


An Unconventional Escape

by Ariel_Riddle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Azkaban, Eventual Romance, F/M, Imperius, Marriage Law Challenge, Memory Loss, Or Is It?, Possessive Draco Malfoy, S&R:CRW, Voldemort Wins, all is lost, dark au, dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Riddle/pseuds/Ariel_Riddle
Summary: The landscape of the Wizarding world has changed drastically. The Dark Lord has successfully taken over both the Muggle & Magical world. But with the future of their race threatened by infertility, Voldemort is forced to enact a controversial new law. When Draco is faced with the decision of choosing a Muggleborn--there can only be one witch suitable for him. Voldy wins AU Dramione.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: This is a dark Volde wins story with all the perils that comes with it. There will be references to major character deaths as well as slight dub con.
> 
> Genre: Drama, Mystery, Romance, Voldemort wins-Alternate Universe
> 
> Pairing: Draco/Hermione
> 
> Summary: Five years after the war, the Wizarding world has changed drastically. The Dark Lord reigns supreme over both the Magical and Muggle world. But when witches are rendered infertile, Lord Voldemort must enact a controversial law that contrasts dramatically with the Death Eater manta. Death Eaters are forced to turn to Muggles and Muggle-borns to secure the future of their race. When Draco is faced with this decision, there is only one witch he finds suitable. But locked away in Azkaban with very little of her mind remaining, how will the newly dubbed Lord Malfoy secure her release?
> 
> Beta Love: RooOjoy
> 
> A/N: This was written for the Betas and Wordsmiths Marriage Law Challenge. The results are in and this story received Runner-up for Best Plot, Best Drama, and Most Unique Marriage Law. Upon request, I have decided to expand this story. I foresee a ten chapter fic with bi-monthly updates. I'm eager to see what you think of the story! Thanks for reading C:

** **

**~oOo*oOo~**

The words reverberated through the air—loud and final.

For a moment, no one spoke. Draco felt anxiousness grip him as he surveyed the room, oddly curious to gauge everyone's reaction, and feeling inexplicably disconnected from the situation.

"Ridiculous," Theo swore, getting up and pacing around the small parlor. He shot daggers at the Ministry _Notificational_ , the offensive messenger orb swirling and silent, unlike it was just a few moments ago. "A joke—it has to be."

"When have you known _Him_ to joke?" Draco asked quietly.

"It can't be," Narcissa cried shrilly. "It's positively _mad_."

"Careful, Mother. We wouldn't want to question Him."

"Thicknesse is bat shit crazy," Lucius raged. "The Dark Lord would never stand for this."

"That's right," agreed Theo. "Pius' brain is fried. It's a wonder he's been allowed to stay on for this long at the Ministry."

Draco absently steepled his fingers under his chin, eyes calculating. "Have you all vacated your senses? Do you not see how this rings true? The Dark Lord would never allow for a _Notificational_ to be compromised. If there's one thing to be sure of—it's that this edict has the Dark Lord's approval."

"Impossible." Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, a look of panic etched on her face. "The Dark Lord would _never_ …he simply _wouldn't_ …"

"Wouldn't he?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Truth be told, I'm surprised none of you saw it coming. When is the last time two Purebloods were able to produce a child? Certainly not in the twenty-first century. Any magical births have all been crossed with Muggle-borns, or even Half-bloods."

"Mudbloods," Lucius corrected sharply.

Draco merely inclined his head. "Really, you all should have expected it. The Dark Lord may be proud, but he would not allow for our magical species to be exterminated thanks to that pride. Even wizards and witches must survive and adapt."

"But I don't understand it," Narcissa argued. "We had little difficulty conceiving you, Draco. How is it that Pureblood unions are not proving fertile?"

"Think about it, Mother. You and Father only had one son, did you not try for more? I know Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus tried, and many other Pureblood families. Face it—the Sacred Twenty-Eight is but a dying dream. It's impossible to keep up blood purity and there's been far too much interbreeding. It's as the edict says—we must adapt to this new world."

"Well I'm certainly not soiling myself with some Mudblood filth, or a Half-blood at that," Theo said adamantly. "I'd rather let my line wither off and die."

"Theo, darling, you can't possibly mean that," Narcissa, placed a soothing hand his shoulder. "It's bad, yes, but surely you can do your duty."

Theo set his features in what could only be described as a pout. "Possibly, yes. If it was only a matter of putting my seed in some Mudblood's belly. But marriage? And with sacred wizard's vows, no less? The man has lost his mind."

"Nott," Lucius warned.

"Those vows are ancient," Draco said, deep in thought. "Rich in binding and fertility spells. I'm sure that has much to do with it."

"And what of our witches? Must they be reduced to mistresses, then?" Theo looked around, challengingly. "I don't bloody believe it. Couple with the inferior Muggle race, or be exterminated. It's laughable."

"It's quite serious, actually," Lucius said. "We certainly can't allow ourselves to let the Muggles get the last laugh. The Dark Lord sees that."

Draco shot his friend a withering stare. "The witches will need to select Muggle or Muggle-born husbands, as well. It goes both ways, Nott."

Theo sat down heavily on the lush armchair. "I don't believe it," he mused. "I actually may have to do this."

"Don't worry, boys." Lucius straightened, adjusting his collar. Draco winced at the way his father still referred to them as boys, though they were twenty-three, for Salazar's-sake. The elder Malfoy looked quickly over to Nott. "Your father and I will go to the Muggle factory ourselves. Cygnus and I will select the best Mudbloods available, before anyone else should get their pick."

Theo looked uncertain, but resigned. "Yes, alright. I suppose that will be best."

"The problem is," Draco started. "There aren't many Mudbloods to choose from."

"Oh, but you can't couple with a Muggle, Draco, dear. What if the child turns out to be a squib?" Narcissa was fraught with worry.

"That's why we'll get there first," Lucius said, determined.

"But I don't want any Mudbloods from the Muggle factory," Draco sneered.

"But Draco," Narcissa cried. "You know what the edict said—those unable to find a suitable Mudblood companion must then resort to choosing a Muggle. You can't mean to have that fate, darling? Or worse—end the noble Malfoy line for good!" Narcissa looked near to hyperventilating, so unlike the typical cool, calm demeanor his mother was known to carry.

"Draco," Lucius hissed. "How dare you even worry your mother like that?"

"Because it's true, Father. If I can't have the Mudblood I wish to have, I'll have none whatsoever."

"Well, who is it that you want, Son? You shall not be deprived," Lucius promised.

"There is only one suitable _Mudblood_ for me." His father's smile froze as the parlor fell deathly silent. "I'll have _her,_ or no one."

"Draco." Narcissa made a valiant effort to appeal to her son. "You can't possibly mean _that_ Mudblood."

He shrugged. "And why not?"

Theo scoffed. "The Dark Lord would never allow it. Your bloody bonkers is what you are."

"Draco." Lucius' face had flushed a deep red. "There's no possible way, and I won't hear another word about it."

Draco looked down in a decidedly bored manner as he examined his nails. "You said I could have any Mudblood I please."

"The last surviving member of the Golden Trio? Really, Draco? It's you that's vacated your senses." Theo chuckled, convinced his friend was merely toying with them.

"Security cautions can be made, of course. Wards, charms, the whole nine. She would be bound to the Manor," Draco ignored the outraged gasps around him.

"But darling," Narcissa said beseechingly. "She's been in Azkaban for the better part of four years. Do you imagine she has somehow managed to _not_ go mad?"

"Yes," Lucius jumped in. "Take your Aunt Bella, for example. You know first hand what Azkaban can do to a person."

Narcissa shot her husband a deathly glare. "Or take your father, _he was only in for a few months_ , yet came back forever changed."

Lucius bared his teeth in anger.

"Exactly," Draco pounced, getting up swiftly from his seat. "And do you remember what happened when dear Father was otherwise occupied? _I_ was inducted into the Death Eaters. _I_ was given a mission—of which I executed, getting this family back in the Dark Lord's good graces. He said I could ask him for anything, of which I did not. Well, now he has something I want, and I believe I have good reason to ask."

Realization seemed to dawn on Draco's captivated audience, who now looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and fear, finally able to see the fierce determination in his cool, gray eyes.

"I want Hermione Granger."

**~oOo*oOo~**

Cold.

Frigid.

Empty.

Always so wrapped in emptiness—enveloped in darkness.

But it was her life, and she'd become used to it. She knew what to expect. _Unlike before._

Before…

She shivered at the thought of _before_.

Her mind immediately shut down at the notion. As far as she was concerned, there was no before, only _now_. And now was cold and empty. She huddled in the corner, the warmest option if anything in her dank cell could be considered warm, for as long as she could remember. When she sensed the other-than-nothingness floating by, she raised her hands to shield her face, curling in as small of a ball as she could manage. Occasionally, her handlers brought her sustenance. It had no taste or smell that she could distinguish, but she would eat it—there was no option not to. A memory of refusing tickled at her brain, but that was before, and she _did not_ dwell on before.

Before was pain and… _surprises_. They were _not_ pleasant surprises. She never knew what was coming. Always new and inventive ways to force her to break. Now she had learned. She had always been a fast learner.

She frowned at that notion, wondering where it had come from. _Always been a fast learner?_ A thought that flit across her brain as if this was a commonly accepted truth, though she couldn't fathom where it had come from.

 _No!_ Her mind clamped down on the concept, twisting and choking it like a vice. _Danger,_ a voice in her head warned _. That was before, and before has only ever been hurt and loss._

Yes, that was right—there was no point thinking on _that_ any longer. Whatever was before was safely locked away and could not be used to hurt her anymore. She needn't worry because in this world, she knew what to expect. She would play by the rules… _always by the rules._

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Sorry," High Inquisitor Umbridge chuckled lightly. "So silly of me, but it sounds like your request is to have a high level prisoner released? I must be mistaken, of course."

"No," Draco said, through gritted teeth. "You are _not mistaken_. The Ministry has decreed every Pureblood, unmarried and of age, take a spouse of Muggle heritage-"

"Do not proceed to lecture me on a Ministry edict High Mage Thicknesse and myself had a part in creating, under the Minister of Magic's direct order," the witch snapped.

Draco felt his mother put a comforting hand on his arm. "I was under the impression, I would be able to obtain an audience with the Minister, himself."

"The Dark Lord is a very busy wizard, Lord Malfoy. Surely you realize that. With the trouble in the African provinces, he cannot be bothered with trivial marriage requests involving his new edict."

"My son is within his right to request an audience with the Dark Lord, High Inquisitor." Narcissa stepped up to the podium, in front of her son and husband.

"What makes you believe that, Lady Malfoy?" Umbridge quirked a delicately arched brow in thinly veiled amusement.

"Draco played a pivotal role in the Wizarding war," Narcissa placated. "The Minister himself has expressed his gratefulness for my son's loyalty to the cause."

"Yes, and for that he's been awarded a lordship."

A muscle throbbed at Draco's temple and his wand hand itched. How he wished he could simply cast an _Avada_ at the troublesome cow. "We only request an audience with the Dark Lord. I would like to bring my request formally to him. Or should I wait until my campaign starts to seek him out? Nott and I leave for Algiers next week."

"You're supposed to have selected a bride by then."

Narcissa swished her long, blond hair over her shoulder. "Then I suppose it would be in your best interest to pass along the message. Or would you rather we summon him ourselves?"

Umbridge's face pinched with concern and Draco could not help but smirk.

"Pius," Umbridge gestured the wizard forward. "Summon the Dark Lord, if you please." Thicknesse pulled up the sleeve of his robes, and pressed his wand against his Dark Mark. Umbridge watched him, black eyes glittering, before looking back up at the Malfoys. "He will refuse you, you know."

Draco exchanged a look with his parents. They knew this was a long shot.

**~oOo*oOo~**

No! No! No!

The other-than-emptiness was floating by…in droves. So many of them! But why? She hadn't done anything—hadn't felt anything. Why would they swarm around her? Her eyes widened in alarm and she resisted the urge to screw them back shut.

For the first time in a long time, she saw, really saw, her surroundings. It was dark, like it always was. But the outside was tinged a midnight blue, which signified daylight. She looked down at the tattered remnants of her dress—she practically blended in with the cobblestones around her, having seeminged to have grown into it.

Her eyes flew to the open sky to the left of her cell, where she saw the dark entity she'd come to fear, float precariously close to her. No! No fear! No feeling—I don't feel anything! What have I done wrong?

The more she swore she would not care, the more she became alarmed. Doubt and worry flit across her face—more feelings than she had felt in ages. No! They'll notice me.

She could not expound on it further, as she heard footsteps approach her cell. The alarm she felt only intensified. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her stomach clenched violently. It wasn't feeding time, so why was she receiving visitors? Nervously, she wiped at her brow which she'd come to realize, to her horror, was sweating profusely. Her clammy hands did nothing to rectify this.

Her skull throbbed, almost pulsating with a life of it's own, and she had the uncanny feeling that there was something in there hoping wildly to be released. No! She clamped down on it, her mind screaming danger. Wracked with fear, she knew there was no way the other-than-emptiness wouldn't notice her now.

Bracing herself, she clutched the rags she wore harshly as she stared warily at the door.

The footsteps only grew louder and even though she'd attempted to prepare herself, she still recoiled away when the door slammed open.

Her handlers.

Both of them.

They were there and, bloody Morganna, but what could it mean?

Wait, bloody Morgana? Where had that come from and who was Morganna? No, her mind screamed with alarm. That's the before and we do not dwell on the before.

"Get up, you. You're coming with us."

Oh gods no! She couldn't leave, this was all she knew. Her safety. Beyond this was unimaginable terror. A world of pain and she could not bear it!

"Did you not hear me?" The one asked, and then he leaned over to the other. "Can you believe she was once considered the brightest witch of her age?"

The other nodded. "And now, reduced to this pitiful state. I have no idea what they want her for."

They?

She pressed herself flush up against the wall. No! She simply could not leave the confines of what she knew. They couldn't make her. A spark of fire lit up inside her and she marveled at the intensity of it. It was so foreign…and yet, oddly familiar.

"Won't come willingly? I was hoping not." With a sadistic smirk, the handler pulled her roughly to her feet, and she wrenched violently against him.

"Can't lift a starved prisoner on your own," the other scoffed as he headed to aid the first.

She fought them both, but they quickly managed to drag her up and lurch her body towards the exit, her feet scraping against the stone floor. The fear she felt intensified. She screamed.

She tasted the blood before she actually felt the slap across the face. She stayed quiet for a moment, letting them lead her to whatever atrocious fate they had planned for her. But when they rounded the corner, she thrashed with all her might against their relentless grip, it was the furthest she'd ever been from her cell!

"Come on, you." The handler gave her arm a rough twist and her skull collided against the stone wall, and she heard an audible snap in her wrist.

After that, she stayed limp, resolved not to make things any worse than she already had. Vaguely, she became aware of the colors changing. Whereas, before there was only fortified stone walls, high as the eye could see, now they were richly painted, and her eyes widened in disbelief as she felt her battered toes brush against marble.

She had never been here, not even in the before; of that she was sure.

Her eyes darted around of their own accord, taking note of the sconces on the wall allowing her to make out colors that were foreign to her. They assaulted her vision, and she felt so overwhelmed—she might faint.

Soon, the hands carrying her weight released her, and she crumpled onto the floor.

"For Salazar's-sake, did you have to be so rough with her?" The voice was sharp, but distinctly feminine; she found she liked the voice.

"Put up a fight, she did, Miss."

"I'm no Miss," she sneered in disgust. "I'm Lady Malfoy, and I'm disappointed you two oafs did not possess the fortitude to levitate her down here. I expect that may exceed your magical ability?"

The woman, Lady Malfoy, did not wait for them to speak. Instead she knelt to the ground and carefully reached for the prisoner's hand, pulling her tentatively into a sitting position.

She hissed at the pain in her wrist, and Lady Malfoy let go abruptly. "You did this to her," Lady Malfoy snarled at the handlers. "Brackium Emendo," she said, pointing a wooden stick at the girl's injured wrist. To her surprise, the two bones shifted and mended themselves. Lady Malfoy looked back down and spoke gently. "I won't waste time with niceties or ask you if you're alright; it's clear you are not. Instead, let this be a small comfort to you—Hermione Granger—I'm taking you home."

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Draco, young Draco." Voldemort paced stealthily around his large office. "I'm quite surprised by this request." Draco attempted to calm his breathing and adapted a mask of impassiveness. "Though there is no doubt Miss Granger is the Mudblood of all Mudbloods, she is a prisoner of war, and one that has caused us all much grief. She has proven a danger whilst working for the Order and even when first incarcerated in Azkaban. Do you know she first managed to escape?" Draco nodded stiffly. "Yes, she was much trouble. I worry at the prospect of granting her freedom."

"My Lord, you must not consider it freedom," Draco said silkily. "Merely a shift in incarcerations. For my manor will be a fortified prison."

"A luxurious one," Voldemort said, placing a long, pale finger on his chin, deep in thought.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, but that is simply not so. I will make sure she deplores her captivity."

"But why Miss Granger? Last I was informed, she was but a shell of her old self. I doubt she will be cognizant of the change."

"My Lord, I was a student with Granger for six years. There are…traits, I would admire in my future heirs. I will admit, she did best me in many subjects during school, a fact of which I'm ashamed of. Her magical capability—Transfiguration and dueling—were par none. And if I have to sully my blood, I'd best do it with the Muggle-born that will help me produce powerful witches and wizards. I don't want to risk having squibs." Draco swallowed quietly, noticing by the red gleam in Voldemort's eye, he had told the dark wizard what he'd wanted to hear.

Voldemort stroked his chin in contemplation, then resumed his pacing. "She's skin and bones, I hear. Likely, she will not be fit to birth heirs for you."

"It's nothing my mother cannot handle, my Lord," Draco countered smoothly. "I'm sure she can get Granger fit physically in no time."

"If lasting damage hasn't been done."

"If I'm unable to put my child in Granger's belly, she can go back to Azkaban, my wife or not."

Voldemort arched what would have been his eyebrow at this. His gaze on Draco intensified, and Draco stilled himself for what was coming, already prepared. When he felt the brush of Legilimency, it was light and focused. Draco let Voldemort see what he wanted to see, not breaking the Dark Lord's stare.

A small smile appeared on Voldemort's face and the longer he looked into Draco's eyes, the wider it got. "An old school rivalry." He let out a grating laugh. "How marvelous. I do see, young Draco, that you do wish to secure yourself magically sufficient heirs, but there is also a desire to torment your former nemesis."

Draco nodded.

"Well, in that case, I do seem to remember granting you permission to ask of what you desire, after proving yourself at the Astronomy Tower, and then again at the Manor when you identified the Golden Trio. Now, glimpsing your mind, I feel like I would be remiss to not grant you this wish. You have my blessing."

Draco smiled wickedly, displaying his teeth, as Voldemort's sadistic face gave into laughter.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	2. Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: So...I've actually never got that big of a response to posting a single chapter of a story. I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the reviews and very grateful! The general consensus was to update quickly. I do have four WIP's I'm actively writing. There is a schedule of sorts listed on my profile. Art for this fic can be found on my photobucket or in the AO3 version of this story. Thanks again for the feedback and I hope that you enjoy the next installment of the story. Happy reading C:**
> 
>  
> 
> **Beta Love to: RooOJoy**
> 
>  
> 
> **Inspiration: Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey and Faefever by Karen Moning**

**~oOo*oOo~**

Curled up in a large porcelain tub, surrounded by facets and colorful soap dispensers, she wrapped her arms securely over legs, hiding in the massive amounts of bubbles.

"Hermione, dear," Lady Malfoy called, sitting on the edge of the tub. "This is Mimsy." Lady Malfoy gestured to a small creature with large ears, standing stoically by her side. "She's going to help you wash, will that be alright?"

"Why do you keep calling me Hermione?" she asked quietly.

Lady Malfoy smiled comfortingly at her. "Because that's your name, dear. Hermione Jean Granger."

"It's not my name."

"Well, what shall we call you, then?"

"Jean. I like Jean."

"Alright, Jean it is. Mimsy, if you please?" The small elf reached for some pink liquid, before applying a generous amount to Jean's hair and working it into a thick lather. "Don't worry, Jean, you'll be right as rain in no time."

Jean's eyes fluttered shut. Since leaving the dark fortress she had known as home, she'd braced herself for the pain that would surely follow. Yet, it never came. Ever since Lady Malfoy had mended Jean's hurt wrist, things seemed to have gotten better and better. And now she was in… _heaven_. Yes, that was the word. She was in heaven, and it was wonderful. The hot water soaked into her skin, quenching it. It was as if there were some sort of healing properties in the liquid, for Jean felt as if she was being replenished down to her very bones. Her head lulled back at the feel of Mimsy's fingers massaging her scalp as she worked the odd soap into Jean's tumultuous curls. This was much better than when she had first been forced into the shower, where she was instructed to scrub layers and layers of dirt off of her skin.

As she lie in the tub, welcoming the unfamiliar feelings of…relaxation, she was absently aware of Lady Malfoy prattling on. "Of course the diagnostic spell did show fluid in your lungs so-," she waved the odd but elegant, dark stick over Jean again. "that should do it. Can you breathe easier?" Jean nodded. "Good. But you're thin, far too thin! We'll have to do something about that, won't we? Did you like the potato and celery soup?" Jean nodded. Did she ever? She still couldn't make sense of their kind treatment of her. "That's wonderful, dear. I figured something light to ease you into things. Now-"

Lady Malfoy was interrupted by a harsh rap on the door. "Mother." Jean bolted upright in the tub, water splashing over the sides, at the sound of _that_ voice. "Let me in this instant. Why do you mean to keep her from me?"

Jean stared up at Lady Malfoy, alarmed, eyes pleading, for what she wasn't sure. "Not now, Draco. Jean needs her rest. She's been through quite the ordeal."

"I know that Mother," the annoyed voice snapped. "Do you really think I don't know that? She's mine, and I will see her."

"She isn't yours yet, Draco Abraxas Malfoy. And she's in no condition for visitors. She's overwhelmed enough by having met me. She'll get a day's rest, first."

"Met you? And why do you call her Jean?"

"I'll explain later. So help me, Draco. If I have to ward you out of the Blue Room, I'll do it. You can be sure of that, Son."

Muttering could be heard on the opposite side of the door. "Fine, Mother," the voice relinquished. "But just one day's rest."

Lady Malfoy gave a frightened Jean a warm smile. "Not to worry, dear. It's only Draco. He's to be your husband, you know."

Jean nodded numbly. Really, she had no idea.

"Mimsy," Lady Malfoy said. "Leave that potion treatment in her hair and dry her." Mimsy helped Jean step out of the tub and set about drying her. "Give her this dressing gown to wear."

Jean couldn't believe how soft the material was and she had an odd impulse to spin around in it. Mimsy lead Jean out of the bathroom and into the vast "Blue Room" as she'd heard them refer to it. There was lush, dark blue furniture and rugs that looked soft to the touch. The walls were painted light blue and had gold crown molding accenting it. In the middle was a huge four-poster bed complete with a sheer blue canopy.

"Help her into bed, Mimsy."

Mimsy complied and Jean could not help but catch her breath at the indescribable softness of the sheets, duvet, and mattress. She actually sank a few inches into the bed as it caressed her slight frame.

"Lady Malfoy, I don't want to go back," she said meekly.

Lady Malfoy ran her hand gently over Jean's forehead, her face full of understanding. "And you won't. Oh, and do call me Narcissa. I'm to be your mother, you know. Now, tilt your head up and drink this, dear." Narcissa put a small vial against her lips. "Dreamless sleep. I won't have you having night terrors. Tonight will be restful."

Jean drank as she was bid. Then furrowed her eyebrows, and looked up at the older woman. "Narcissa, what does _a husband_ mean?"

Narcissa sighed. "It means that you won't have to return to Azkaban."

**~oOo*oOo~**

Draco stared at his tea, sweetened with honey and flavored with lemon, feeling jumpy and on edge.

"How do you suspect it will be in Africa?" Theo asked.

"Dreadfully hot, I imagine," Draco answered distractedly.

Theo snatched another wafer off of the tray. "They really should have sent us sooner. I'm sure the two of us could have squashed this little uprising quicker than those gits at the Ministry."

"It's difficult to catch smoke, Theo. I wouldn't be too pompous about it." Draco drummed his fingers impatiently over the table.

"Did you hear Headmaster Snape will be taking the weekend off to join us? Smoke or not, those buggers don't have a chance now."

"I hope you're right. It's not a matter of simply defeating the wizards, but finding them. The word is, they hole themselves up in the jungle, leaving no visible trace of where they were. They've become excellent at hiding."

"Still," Theo argued. "I'm confident we'll make strides in the right direction, and hopefully quickly too. I have my little Mudblood to get back to." He snickered at this. "My healer says I've already put a child in her."

"Congrats, Theo. You'll be a father."

"I expect I'll be a better one than mine ever was. And what about you—have you been reunited with your bride yet?"

Draco ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Mother is being quite protective of her."

"I bet Granger is a rough sight to see. She always was, but now," Theo cringed dramatically. "I really don't know why you insisted on _her_."

"Granger bested us both in nearly every subject in school. That's an attribute I would want to see in my children. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't, and I know nothing about those Mudbloods that work with the Muggles in that factory."

"I think I lucked out with mine."

They were interrupted by a popping sound as Mimsy appeared before them. "Master Draco. Mistress is ready for you to send for the Ministry official, she is. Sends Mimsy to ask you."

Draco, got up hastily from his seat. "I'll owl my father. He can accompany the officiator to the Manor when he returns home." _No more wasting time sealing the arrangement_ , he thought. _Voldemort is far too prone to changing his mind_.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Jean stretched luxuriously on her bed, feeling as if she were being swaddled by clouds. When she opened her eyes, she had a brief moment of panic as she realized she had no idea where she was. Dimly, she was aware her head felt more clear than she could ever recall. For once in her existence, she did not feel physical pain, but the aching emptiness that seemed to be embedded deep in her soul, was ever present and hungry for something to fill itself with.

She needn't have worried before—the physical pain had been enough to distract her. But now, with no pressing fear of being hurt, her focus had shifted, becoming painstakingly aware of the odd void that plagued her.

Hauling herself to a sitting position, she didn't have long to expound on the idea before the strange little creature, Mimsy, appeared with a pop by her bed.

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of activity. Mimsy promptly sat her at the small table in her room before setting sweetened porridge, fruit, tea, and toast in front of her and encouraging Jean to eat. She didn't need much encouragement. Having been deprived for so long, she found her appetite was quite voracious.

During the meal, Narcissa had sauntered into the room delivering her greetings and further instruction to the busy house elf. She'd selected a periwinkle gown from the chiffarobe, displaying it with a flourish to Jean who feigned polite interest before turning back to her breakfast.

Once she was finished, Mimsy set about brushing the tangles and knots through her hair, surprisingly easy to remove thanks to the potion left in the previous night. Narcissa then proceeded to wave the black stick over Jean's hair, and she watched in the mirror as her curls twisted themselves into an intricate updo. Her mind could not make sense of how this had occurred, so she simply ignored it, playing with the sheer overlay of her dress.

"Your eyes are still so hollow and your cheeks are gaunt," Narcissa had exclaimed in distress. "I'd rather not do a glamour. Simple cosmetics will have to suffice."

Jean allowed the woman to tuck and pull at her, complying passively as Mimsy and Narcissa fussed over.

Finally, they seemed to be finished as they stood beaming down at her proudly.

Narcissa gestured her to stand in front of the tall mirror. "Come child, have a look."

Jean straightened herself obediently, dragging her curious eyes to the glass. The woman that stared back at her was completely foreign. She couldn't be certain what she looked like before, but whatever she could imagine, it wasn't this unfamiliar person she saw now. Jean didn't know what to think of her appearance and felt strangely disconnected from it all.

"You look beautiful, dear," Narcissa assured her. Jean tried to curl her lips upwards as she'd seen Narcissa and even Mimsy do, in response. "Now then, there's just one more thing." Narcissa pulled a small vial from her the pocket of her robes, popping the stopper and holding it out for her. "This isn't a love potion, I wouldn't give you that. It's an inhibition potion."

Jean took the small vial Narcissa held out to her. "Inhibition potion?" She did not know what those words meant.

Narcissa nodded. "Yes. Meaning, it won't force you to do something against your will—like the Imperius—but it will remove your fears and inhibitions. The last thing you need is to be worried over something else."

"Should I be worried, Narcissa?"

Narcissa smiled comfortingly. "There will be… _changes._ But I've promised you, you'll be safe now, and I mean that. _My son means it._ He will protect you. But there are certain… _duties_ that you may be frightened of at first. You don't need to be. Draco does not mean you harm. He simply must seal his union with you."

Jean did not bother explaining to Narcissa that she didn't know what 'seal his union' meant, and instead, drowned the contents of the vial in one sip.

She felt an odd feeling immediately afterwards. _Confidence?_ her mind offered. Jean frowned at the unfamiliarity of it.

"Let's go, dear. The officiator from the Ministry has arrived, and Blishwick will not wait for long."

Jean followed obediently, looping her arm through Narcissa's. As they passed more rooms before reaching the top of the stairway, Jean noticed she no longer felt the anxiousness that had previously gripped her. Voices drifted up from the first floor of the manor, but she did not hesitate to take a downwards step.

The voices below hushed upon noticing the duo descending the stairs. Jean looked down at the four strangers, clad in black, that were congregated in the open room. She scanned the small party quickly before her gaze landed on one man in particular.

Her eyes flickered over his tall and lean figure. He stood proudly and there was something distinctly arrogant about the way he carried himself. She noticed how his platinum blond hair hung loose over his forehead, looking soft to the touch. His jaw was set cruelly, lips pressed in a thin line and Jean felt her lips quirking of their own accord this time—though she was mystified as to why she found it humorous. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of gray—stormy and currently smoldering at her. She might have looked away, but feeling strangely emboldened she stared back openly. Something about him caused her stomach to flutter and her heart to clench, not from nerves, but rather simply a gut reaction to seeing him.

"Jean, dear," Narcissa said, interrupting her from her silent musings. "This is Draco." Narcissa gestured to the man Jean had just been appraising.

Draco closed the gap between them with four long strides, taking her hand in his and placing a chaste kiss on her palm. "Hello," he greeted.

"Hello," she returned boldly.

"Let's get this underway, shall we?" He didn't seem to be addressing her specifically, but rather, the others in general. Despite the inherent cruelness of his features, she identified something oddly close to tenderness in his silver gaze. She let him place her arm in his and walked with him as he lead her into an adjoining room.

For the first time, she noticed the others that were walking with them. There was a man about Draco's age looking at her. _Gawking_ , a voice in Jean's head supplied sourly. The other two wizards were elderly. One she assumed was the officiator, while the other was the spitting image of an older Draco.

They entered into a parlor equally as dark as the rest of what she'd seen of the manor. The only light source were from candles floating on either side of the room. She could not make sense of the strange sight, nor could she make sense of the glowing circle etched into the oak wood.

"I understand you would like to proceed the ancient wizarding way?" the officiator, Blishwick asked.

Draco nodded.

"Not a simple civil ceremony, mate? That's all the Ministry requires," the young, brunette man queried.

Draco shook his head. "I'm fairly agreeable with some of the _advantages_ the ancient way has to offer," he explained.

Jean felt as if they were speaking another language, and she watched avidly as Blishwick raised his own wooden stick and the circle etched in the floor began glowing, growing, and stretching before it was hovering above the floor. She noticed the others stepping away from the three of them.

"Step into the circle, if you please," Blishwick instructed.

Jean complied, letting Draco assist her as they stepped over the glowing line and into the circle. Normally, she would be wary, but her mind accepted all the mystifying things she was seeing with inexplicable ease. She watched Blishwick curiously as he raised his wooden stick and droned on, his words may as well have been gibberish.

Her gaze was drawn to their hands as Draco tied a golden cord around her wrist.

"I will initiate the binding spell." A wispy, golden light shot out from Blishwick's stick towards her wrist. Jean was shocked to see the cord becoming transparent, before disappearing completely, though she could still feel a tickle of where it had been. She noticed a faint glow appear around Draco's wrist as well. "Now say the words. _Blood of my blood, and bone of my bone, I pledge you my body, my spirit, so we shall be one. On my magic and honor_."

Jean repeated the odd words, feeling slightly silly saying them, but the silliness quickly vanished as a strange heaviness settled in.

"I proclaim you witch and wizard, man and wife."

The three observers clapped at his words and the circle promptly disintegrated into nothing. Jean could not help but feel as if the whole ordeal held serious implications that she couldn't quite understand, but there was no anxiousness.

**~oOo*oOo~**

After the festivities and libations, as the older, blond man, Lucius, she came to learn, decreed, night had fallen and the small party began dispersing. There had been a lot of giggling and flushed cheeks thanks to the copper liquid served in crystal glasses. Jean had enjoyed the array of foods that had been prepared and listening to the others converse. Sometimes, they would politely draw her into the conversation. Mostly, she enjoyed watching her _new husband_ when his attention wasn't on her.

She was intrigued by him, and took note of every move he made. _He moves so gracefully_ , she had thought. So far, his temperament seemed mild compared to the whiny boy she had first heard when he'd spoken to his mother the day before. He never smiled, but he made her feel comfortable with the light circles he stroked in the small of her back, and in the protective way he held her by her waist.

Now that the evening was drawing to an end, she found herself following Draco up the stairs. Instead of going to the room she was familiar with, they went to one opposite. Inside, the room was a combination of blacks and grays, complete with a black canopy bed and impressive chandelier with slate colored accents. The door closed behind them and she looked over to watch as Draco walked to a high table against the wall.

"My mother says you don't remember anything," he said, lifting up a decanter filled with coppery-colored liquid and pouring it in two crystal tumblers. "She says you likely may never remember." Jean frowned at this as Draco walked over, handing her a glass. "I don't believe that." His eyes were intense, the gray having morphed into hot metal and she felt trapped by his gaze. "The Granger I know is still in there, she's too brilliant to have left completely." Jean felt an odd chill run down her spine at the name Granger. "I don't blame you for having that bit locked away right now. It must have been hopeless to have the Dementors suck you dry, day after day, never quite seeing it through, but keeping you a shell of your normal self."

"I don't know this word, Dementors," she snarled, before taking a deep drink from her cup.

"No?" he said, eyebrows raised, and for the first time, his lips quirked slightly. Jean did not know why she should be irritated by his apparent amusement.

"If it's the-other-than-nothing you speak of, then yes."

He looked away. "They're called Dementors, and they're the reason you're like this today. Unlike my parents however, I don't think it's permanent." When he looked back his eyes were even more intense than before. "I won't lie to you, Granger."

"I hate this word, _Granger_."

"Ah yes, you go by your middle name now. Please excuse me if old habits die hard." She furrowed her brows in confusion. "As I was saying, I won't lie to you. It was a risky thing to ask for you as I have, and we're not in the clear yet."

"In the clear?"

"That's right. I chose the ancient ways for a reason. Not only are the binding vows rich in fertility spells, but they also mean I'm bound to protect you. There is little I can do to hurt you."

Her eyes flashed perilously. "And little _I_ can do to hurt _you_."

He looked up sharply. "See, I knew the Granger brains are still in there somewhere. Yes, it goes both ways, _Jean_." He guided her over to the bed to sit down and he sat beside her. "Now, I realize there is a lot you don't know, but let me surmise briefly for you. The Wizengamot was destroyed down to every last member. The Ministry was demolished before being rebuilt by the Dark Lord. _Nothing_ is the same. He's completely mastered the magical world and even Muggles know about our existence."

"I do not know these words."

He smirked, bemused. "Maybe so, but you'll remember this conversation eventually. The point is, the Dark Lord was _wrong_. The Pureblood rhetoric harped on us since birth, was _wrong_. Muggle-borns cannot simply be exterminated, or locked away in Azkaban; they are vital to magical bloodlines. Now to the point..." He took a deep breath before speaking again, "the only way to ensure your safety and that you cannot be taken from me, is if I get you pregnant. Do you know that word?"

Idly, she realized she may have felt something akin to dread at this point, but found she couldn't call on it now. She nodded.

"So you understand?" He reached for her cheek, brushing a stray honey-colored curl off of her face. "I vowed to protect you, and I will, even if one day you hate me for it, but this was the only way I could think of."

"Why would I hate you?" she said, frowning.

"Consistency," he replied with a wily and mischievous quirk of his lips. _Scoundrel_ , that strange voice in her head informed her. Jean wasn't sure if she agreed and she found she wasn't afraid of him. "I'm no savior Gr-, Jean. Certainly no Potter-in-shining-armor, so don't get any romantic ideas." She flinched at the confusing words. "I'm driven by my wants and desires." He smirked openly now and she felt her insides quiver.

His words were like sweet venom washing over her. She felt oddly sluggish as if she _had_ been drugged, which she knew was a silly notion. She felt something creeping to the surface, it wasn't nervousness, she was far from _that_ , it was something else entirely. _Sexual anticipation_ , came the voice, sounding distinctly irritated.

His eyes bored into hers, slightly hooded yet intense nonetheless. Immense, dark and hungry waves poured off of him and she thought she could almost feel it, wrapping around her like a warm and claiming caress. Lightning flashed in those silver orbs and she responded with answering thunder. She relaxed her prim and proper position, turning slightly towards him and resting her hands on the bedspread. She tilted her head to the side, some primal part of her ready and challenging. She bit her lips—lips that ached to be touched, noting the way his gaze was drawn to them and his eyes had darkened measurably.

The smirk appeared once more, and she was beginning to think it might be a trademark of his. _He looks like a predator_ , she thought, unsure of why this thrilled her. He slowly leaned towards her, stopping mere inches from her body, and she had to arch her neck to keep his gaze, eyes burning into hers.

"I've waited a while for this," he said, voice low and raw. Her breathing quickened at her temples and a hot knot of emotion formed low in her belly, a delicious sense of anticipation welled up inside of her. He leaned forward, carefully brushing his lips with hers and she felt her eyelids flutter shut, excitement coursing through her. He pulled away, likely gauging her reaction, and she marveled at the way he looked soft and unfocused.

He kissed her again, and this time it was heated and provocative. She choked out a sound as his mouth latched onto hers, hot and possessive. Her pulse thrummed hard and fast through her body. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, letting him explore the cavern of her mouth with his tongue. He plundered her mouth, deeper and deeper, his taste hot and demanding. His fingers trailed around her neck, before fisting in her hair. She welcomed the decadent sensations she was feeling just from his touch and let herself fall, half laying on the bed, with him following after her, never breaking the kiss.

 _This can't be just a kiss_ , she mused, feeling heated and feverish. His hands dragged down her sides over the silk of her dress, desperately seeking purchase on her hips. She found herself opening her legs wider to accommodate him. He was _there_ , immediately, nestled between her legs. He ground himself into her, eliciting a surprised whimper from her, the effect of the hard bulge rubbing against her sending liquid heat low in the pit of her abdomen.

"I know, Granger," he said, voice gravelly. "I'll make it good… _so good_ for you."

She couldn't even bring herself to care that he hadn't called her the correct name. He could call her anything he bloody-well-pleased so long as he kept touching her. She told him so. He chuckled darkly, a wicked smile on his face. She thought she should be worried at the cruel set of his face but could only summon excitement.

One hand was buried roughly in her hair as he tilted her head, latching on to her neck and sucking the blood to the surface. Her hips bucked of their own volition, seeking that exquisite sensation he'd provided her before.

"In time, my little minx," he crooned.

He continued nipping and sucking her neck, his hands caressing her body. When she felt the light touch of his fingertips over her collarbone descending lower over her chest before grazing over her cloth-covered nipples, she arched her back and mewled in delight. She jerked her wrists from her side, fed up with not being able to touch him as she wished to. Her hands flew to his back, delighting in the feel of the muscles rippling underneath the cloth.

He swallowed the small sounds of pleasure she made with another searing kiss. He reached down to her calf, bare thanks to her skirt riding high, and caressed her leg until he reached the soft material of her dress. He bunched up the fabric, wrenching it above her waist but she wasn't the least bit concerned about it. She even lifted her bum and arched her back so he could take the offending garment all the way off, flinging the expensive gown to the floor. He divested himself of his clothes and she found she very much appreciated the change.

Then it was all heated ridges and hard plains as her hands wandered over his body, exploring his chest and tracing the scars she found. He hissed when her fingertips found a particular spot on his abdomen.

"No," he said, voice grating. He pinned both of her wrists over her head. "Keep them there." She nodded, the anticipation growing in her lower regions. "Good girl."

She preened over his praise, resisting the urge to move. His eyes scanned her chest, now bared to him. His gaze had darkened further and her excitement heightened as she saw him dip his head low to nuzzle in the valley of her chest. His fingers brushed lightly over her sides, giving her pleasant tingles that rippled over her skin. Her nipples had hardened into stiff peaks thanks to her arousal, so she was acutely aware of when his mouth latched down on her breast. She couldn't help but arch into his attentions, encouraging him with low moans of approval.

She yearned for the delicious feel of him grinding into her once more, and was beyond pleased at the feel of his fingers over the soft material of her knickers. He rubbed slow circles over the satin material and her need quickly became hot and demanding. She writhed beneath him, unsure of just how to suffice that need, but knowing she wanted more friction. She tossed her head from side to side, electricity shooting straight to her core.

"I dreamed you would be this responsive," he said, possessively running his free hand over the mound of her breast. "You make me wild, witch." His hand trailed down her chest, over her stomach, past her bellybutton, and over the curve of her belly before reaching her hip and gripping it harshly.

"Please," she found herself pleading.

With a careful and stiff nod of his head, he reached for the hem on her knickers and pulling them roughly down her legs. She was acutely aware of how wet she was and thought perhaps she should be mortified but could only feel her desire grow further still. He dropped to his knees, spreading her legs further and hooking one leg over his shoulder. She was completely bared to him now, she could even feel his breath on her.

His tongue melted into her, hot and moving expertly. She grabbed a fistful of the bed sheets. Never had she fathomed she could feel such inexplicable pleasure—pleasure so intense, it rocked her world.

"Yes, oh gods yes," she hummed in approval.

Her body reacted of it's own accord, moving with him and making it easier. Her hand found the silky tresses of his hair. She pressed him against her shamelessly, her words turning into incoherent noises. She rocked against him, desperate and frantic, feeling on the verge of something powerful.

His finger joined his tongue and the sensation rocked her. "Taste…so bloody irresistible," he said. "I knew it would be like this."

The rhythm he kept was almost unbearable as he picked up the pace and worked her faster. Each flick of his tongue had her moaning, feeling indescribable sensations. He broke away and she made a whimper of protest, feeling suddenly empty. He relieved himself of his underwear and crawled back on top of her, his fingers quickly finding her sensitive flesh.

His face was strained and his body was tense as she felt him poised at her entrance. Her hands curved around his neck, anchoring herself securely around him, feeling his muscles and tendons shift underneath her hands.

He wrapped a hand around her waist, tilting her up, choking out a hiss as his tip brushed against her heat. Her heart hammered in her chest, and dizziness surged as she was overcome with sensations. He looked so carefully guarded as he wrestled for control. He hesitated for a moment before he slid himself fully and completely inside of her. His arm tightened around her and his eyes were screwed shut. She felt no pain, just a brief moment of discomfort as she got used to the feeling of fullness. His grunts and her heavy breathing filled the room. The discomfort gave way to pleasure, and she felt herself quiver in anticipation.

He winced at the movement. "So bloody tight," he groaned. "For fuck-sake, I have to move. I'm sorry."

She wasn't sure why he needed to apologize. All she wanted was for him to _move_. And move he did.

The rhythm he set was slower than she would have liked, but pleasant just the same. She found it easy to move with him, as if instinctive. She only wished he'd pick up the pace. His hand pulsed over her stomach leaving fiery trails from his touch. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, and his eyes snapped open, wild and hungry.

He kissed her as he ground against her, fiery and demanding. His pace grew faster, brought on by her movements which urged him to move. She met each snap of his hips, reveling in the powerful sensations that rocked her more forcefully than the last. His mouth dropped to her neck, finding her pulse point and she hummed in approval.

He adjusted his angle, changing his position just slightly, but it was enough to make him come in direct contact with a sweet spot that had her letting out a low moan, digging her heels into his sides. His fingers found her clit and clumsily drew slow circles around it. He was edging her towards delirium and it wasn't long before her pleasure hit her— _hard and fast_. Her vision splintered and her toes curled, as she clamped down erratically around him.

It was enough to send him over the edge. A violent tremor through his body was the only warning she had before he gave one last, powerful thrust, gripping her tightly as he emptied inside of her.

She held him to her, feeling oddly as if she were floating in some dreamlike state. For once, she was blissfully unaware of the emptiness that seemed to constantly plague her. He rolled over onto his side and scooped her up against him. He felt safe and warm. _My protector_ , she thought. She could soak in the warmth of his scent forever. She was content to be held safely in the arms of Draco—her new husband.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	3. Memories are a Funny Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: It's Tuesday and I've had a really crappy, unproductive week, so why not improve things with an update? I know the majority of the reviewers had specific concerns about a huge plot point in this story, and perhaps that will be addressed in this chapter? I do move pretty fast, haha. Can I just say again, thanks so much for all the encouragement on this story! I've never had so much interest on any work of mine and I'm super excited about it. I've read a bunch of new fanfics lately, mostly that were nominated in the Dramione FanFic awards on facebook (check them out if you haven't, there are some super good stories there!) and one of the ones I'm in love with is a historical romance, Persuading Draco by LeanaM. It's a marvelous story with that Victorian feel-I highly recommend it!**
> 
>  
> 
> Beta Love to: The amazing RooOJoy, one of the authors of the incredible fanfic-Out of the Flames  
> Thank you to SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 and LastBornSlytherin for looking over this chapter!
> 
> Inspiration: Big Eyes by Lana Del Rey and Faefever by Karen Moning which inspired a specific scene in this chapter ****

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**~oOo*oOo~**

"Of course you can go anywhere in the manor you like." Draco chanced a glance at Hermione who was looking around curiously. The late morning sun flooded through the open windows, making it look as if there was a halo surrounding her honey brown curls. "However, you must stay within the manor."

"Why must I?" Her eyes were bright, expectant, and oddly trusting. _So fragile._ The thought hit him like an expulso to the chest. A fierce desire to protect her welled up deep inside him.

"It's just safer that way," he answered simply. "Though you can take a stroll through the gardens, so long as you're accompanied by someone."

She nodded her understanding.

"You need only summon Mimsy should you want of anything and she will appear."

"Like magic?"

He chuckled. "Yes, _exactly_ like magic." They rounded the corner and Draco pointed out the dining room as they continued their tour. "You know," he said offhandedly, "you know how to do magic too."

"I do?"

"That's right. I know it's been awhile since you were… _able to_ …but we can work on it together if you like. I have a spare wand."

"I would like to," she nodded eagerly. She gestured to an open door on the left of them. "What's this room?"

"The ballroom where Mother puts on her parties, but just this way," he steered her further down the hall, "is the library. You still like those, right?" He grinned mischievously.

"I think so."

"There's a great many books. I imagine you won't be able to read them in a lifetime."

"Doubtful," she countered, and Draco looked up suddenly to see her brows were furrowed. She seemed as confused by her own comment as he was.

The real Granger would probably be as volatile as a hippogriff at this point, accusing him of taking advantage, and maybe he had, but it was all worth it. What other choice was there? It had sickened him to imagine her locked up in Azkaban, being kept on the edge of sanity and reason by the Dementors. Sure, he shared a responsibility for her capture in the first place, but he did what he _had_ to do. His parents depended on him, and Voldemort's first-in-command trained him herself. There was no fooling his Aunt Bella.

During the fighting, he had come to admire Granger from afar. It seemed that the sentiments he held during school were no more, the jealousy and resentments he'd felt had vanished. It was unfortunate they had been on opposite sides of the war, keeping her far out of his reach. He resented the fact that he had to be the one to turn her in. As the years passed, the guilt he felt for what he did to her had only intensified. It was only natural for him to take advantage of the situation he'd been presented with. _And now I have her_ , _against all odds_ , he thought with a surge of triumph. _She is mine._

**~oOo*oOo~**

Jean liked to practice magic. Whenever Draco would let her hold that odd little stick he called a wand, she loved the way the power seemed to thrum through her hand.

She liked to feel powerful.

After so much time spent following the will of others, it was nice to feel like she had some control. Other things made her feel powerful too—like sex with Draco. Not only had she come to crave their time together, but she rarely thought about the desolate emptiness anymore. It was quite lovely, and she thought this truly must be paradise.

She curled up next to him, letting out a contented sigh as he started caressing her side.

"Draco," she said tentatively. "Why must you leave?"

He sighed. "I have a job to do, unfortunately." He turned to give her a scoundrel-like smile. "Otherwise, do you think I'd ever willingly leave you?"

"I wish you could refuse."

"I wish I could too, but you'll have plenty of things to do. I'm sure you can waste hour after hour in the library."

"But who will teach me magic?" Her lips were set in a mock pout. "How will I ever learn how to lift things in the air and float them to me?"

He laughed, one of those genuine laughs only ever reserved for her. "That's not all magic is for, silly."

"Oh?" She placed her elbow on the bed, resting her palm on her chin. "I haven't seen you do much else."

"Some things I'd rather you not see," he muttered darkly.

Jean hated when he got those far-off, haunted looks. It reminded her of the times when he tried to 'jog her memory,' another thing she despised. She was happy he was at least not pushing that agenda tonight.

"What else can you do with that oh-so-powerful-wand-of-yours?" she challenged.

He gave her a wily smirk before flicking his wand and snuffing out the light in the sconces. She felt nervous anticipation surge as the room was bathed in darkness. Over the past few nights, she had developed a huge amount of trust for her husband. Anything he introduced her to was always bound to be pleasurable, eventually.

She heard a swooshing sound and was surprised to see pink glittering flowers and some kind of insect— _flitterbies_ —the familiar voice in her head informed her, sprout out from the tip of his wand. They floated to the ceiling and she watched the charming conjurings dance and shimmer above them. Her eyes sparkled as she stared, entranced by the impressive display of magic.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

He was content to simply watch her. "You're beautiful."

**~oOo*oOo~**

Forcing her eyes open, Jean noticed her bedroom chamber was dimly lit and she wondered if she had slept through until the evening like she had the day before. She soon realized that was not the case when she straightened and saw light peaking through the shutters. It was likely early afternoon and she'd only taken a small nap.

But now she was awake, and that presented a problem.

What was she supposed to do now that Draco had left for his campaign? He'd kept her thoroughly entertained and she couldn't imagine spending her days without him. Feelings of dread welled up inside her and she lamented the loss of her protector—even if just for a short while. He didn't even bother leaving the wand for her to practice with, putting some kind of 'ward' on it. When she asked what it was for, he simply said it was just in case she 'remembered,' whatever that meant. He had suggested she peruse through the massive library Malfoy Manor boasted of so that seemed like a good place to start.

After she summoned Mimsy to prepare her a snack, she headed to the library. Upon entering the large room, she smiled at the pleasant smell that filled her nostrils—it was rather comforting. The Malfoy library was a combination of reds, browns, and golds, in stark contrast to the rest of the manor. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt so at home, but she found herself quite at ease and eager to explore the place.

Wandering further inside, her eyes were drawn to the large tomes and scrolls. It was all so achingly familiar and she couldn't fathom as to why books should garnish such a response from her. Her fingers trailed over the spines of the books, her eyes darting from one to the other. She finally selected one at random, simply titled _Magical Places and Where to Find Them_. The book had brilliantly colored moving images.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, pressing her back against the book shelf. An odd thrill ran through her as she opened the book on her lap. Her eyes flew over the words, happy to find she could decipher them. What really dazzled her were the moving images displaying places she could never even dreamed existed in the world. She pondered on how wonderful it would be to travel to such places. Draco had promised he would take her flying, perhaps they would visit places such as these?

She flipped the vibrant colored page and her eyes landed on a picture that made her stomach twist violently. Her eyelids fluttered and her temples throbbed.

It was a picture of a castle sitting high above a lake. Edging the castle was an ancient forest. The leaves of the trees swayed gently by a breeze.

Her eyes screwed shut once more as visions of inside the castle flooded her mind. A massive hall with four different colored tables, a red and gold room warmed by a bright fire burning peacefully in the hearth, a dungeon with steaming cauldrons, numbers and runes and the smell of parchment…she snapped the book shut, confused to find tears streaming down her cheeks.

What was wrong with her? Draco had only been gone a few days and who knew how long it would be until he returned. She would simply have to learn how to cope on her own. It would never do to be an emotional wreck when he returned to her. With more force than she intended, she thrust the book back into the shelf and selected another. She hoped his campaign would be a short one.

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Take a better look at it, Granger. Look at their faces. Does that mean anything?" Draco thrust the old Hogwarts newsletter at her.

"Stop calling me 'Granger,'" she demanded. "I hate it! And why should a picture, _even a moving picture_ , of two boys, mean anything to me?"

"Forget the Gryffindor Quidditch team. How about this, from the Daily Prophet?" He held up the old article. "I know you recognize this."

She stomped her foot, brows furrowed in displeasure. " 'Undesirable Number One,' " she read.

"This was Harry—he was your world. You loved him more than _anything._ "

"I love you— _you're my world_."

Draco looked pained by her statement. "Love is a multi-faceted concept." He paused in his pacing before sitting down heavily. "Harry was your friend, take another look."

Harry. The word disturbed her more than any of the other silly words he'd been throwing at her for the past two weeks since he'd returned. She could tell he was getting frustrated with her. He would say she was on the verge of remembering, but she didn't know this 'remembering,' nor did she wish to do it. All she wanted was to be in his arms. She could tell he wanted it too, so why did he complicate things so?

"Harry and Ron," he tried again, "I know you can't possibly forget them."

"I don't know those words, _Harry and Ron_ ," she growled. "I hate them and I don't care for your 'pictures'—they mean _nothing_ to me!"

He regarded her suspiciously. "You _have_ to remember."

"Why? I don't care! I like how things are _now_. Why must you try to change things? They are good."

"You must, Granger."

"I hate that word!"

"Fine. Jean," he placated.

"Why must you be so difficult? I don't care about this, and I don't have to listen!" Her head pounded and her stomach clenched. "I don't see why you care in the first place—it's all your bloody fault— _ferret_!"

His head whipped around. "What'd you say?" he asked sharply.

Her skull throbbed. "I don't know." She gave her head a desperate shake. "Please, my head hurts."

"Ferret, tell me about that!"

"I've never heard that word before," she lied.

"Rubbish, you have and you used it often. You, Weasley, and Potter. You used to call me that back at Hogwarts."

"I don't want to talk about this 'Hogwarts,' " she raged. "Please! I just want to be here with you! It's safe and I like it. Don't force me back to that empty place!"

"You have to fill that emptiness with something," he argued. "Before somebody else fills it and then you'll be ruled by them forever."

An idea came to her mind, one that _always_ worked. "You can fill it," she offered distractedly. She sat sideways on his lap and dropped her head to the hollow of his neck. "I don't care if you do."

His mouth tightened and his eyes darkened. He looked perfectly divided in his desire, but Jean was sure she could sway him to her side.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "I don't mind."

"But you will, and you'll hate me for it." His face was etched in an expression that could only be described as sincere.

 _Preposterous_ , she thought. He said strange things sometimes. Just now, it wasn't words that she wanted to hear from him. "I could never hate you," she promised. "You're my husband and my protector."

"Sometimes I wish you'd stay like this," he admitted, nuzzling her neck the way she liked. She dragged her fingers seductively over his bare chest.

He didn't push her anymore with words she deplored hearing, so she had no need to argue with him further. He kissed her savagely. His tongue plundered her mouth, he kissed her until she could no longer speak.

Speaking was no longer on her mind. The only thing she wanted to do was wrap her lithe and limber body—toned from many nights spent in his arms—tightly around him and never let go.

She kissed him back eagerly, her eyelids fluttering shut, as dizziness overwhelmed her. She gripped his shoulders for balance, delighting in the way his palm pressed into the small of her back. She surrendered completely, throwing her legs on either side of his as she ground against the hard bulge of his trousers. With a desperate groan, he slanted his mouth over hers with deliberate possession, leaving her panting, as a stab of pleasure shot down low in her belly.

"Draco," she breathed, her voice coming out like a raspy plea.

She searched frantically for the hem of his trousers, her fingers flying to the fastenings as a violent tremor wracked through him. He yanked her dressing gown over her head and she found herself lying flat on his velvet sofa. He crawled on top of her, trailing torturously light kisses up her chest as he dragged himself up her body. When she felt his fingers brush over her silk knickers, a whimper escaped her throat and there was a knowing glint in his eyes. He kissed her once more, his fingers moving in decadent patterns over her knickers before slipping inside.

It wasn't long before he had her squirming. Her back arched and she bucked into his hand, every nerve ending on fire. He didn't tease her for long. He divested himself completely of his loosened trousers and lined himself up with her. He wasted no time entering her desperately, a hungry look of raw need on his face she found herself enthralled by.

She submitted to his movements, and stunning sensations bloomed dark and burning with each snap of his hips. She could hardly keep up with his pace that was quickly becoming erratic. His fingers flew down to where they were joined, and then she could hardly focus on anything else but indescribable pleasure. Harsh breaths tore out of his mouth and it wasn't long before he came, hard and shuddering.

Later, exhausted yet floating contently on the aftermath high of their lovemaking, Draco cleared his throat. She was far too tired to resume their previous conversation and hoped he wouldn't try to talk with her. It was far too tempting to let the blissful blackness of sleep envelop her. Moments passed and she felt herself drifting.

"What did you wear to the Yule Ball?" he asked quietly.

"Periwinkle dress robes from Madam Malkin's. I went through an entire jar of Sleekeazy's just to tame my hair."

He swore but she didn't hear, already rolling over onto her side and surrendering to sleep.

**~oOo*oOo~**

She had always been certain of her actions, ruled by logic and rationality. She rarely ever doubted herself, or gave up the reins, so waking up the next day after their frantic coupling, she realized quite immediately—she remembered _everything_.

She supposed it came to her through dreams, vaguely she recalled flickers of her life playing behind her eyelids almost like a Muggle film as she slept.

Regardless of the how or why, one thing was certain—she was Hermione Granger—and she was back.

**~oOo*oOo~**

What does one do when they wake up after years of being another person entirely? Hermione wasn't sure of the answer. Somehow, she had come to think of Malfoy and his family as her safe haven. Ironic, really, considering the Death Eaters were responsible for her world crumbling in the first place. After years of doing a shite job of holding onto her reason and sanity, suppressing her memories to the point to where she lost essential components of herself, she realized with exact accuaracy, that it was Malfoy she had to thank for getting it back.

 _I don't care_ , she seethed. _He took advantage of me—they all did! They forced me into a marriage I'm bound to. I simply have to escape._ She resolved to do just that. She would play Jean a little longer in order to catch them unawares and make her getaway.

Shuffling through Malfoy's drawer, she found his spare wand they'd been practicing with, unguarded. She broke through the ward easily, putting her wandless magic to use. She raised it in the air, calling to her magic, and felt it actually thrum through her hand. She transfigured a holster of sorts underneath her dress on her thigh, and headed down to breakfast.

Of course Malfoy was not alone, flanked by the ever-present Theo Nott. She mumbled her greetings, keeping her head slightly tucked. Hermione just wished for once Nott could be at his own manor with his own wife. Memories came flooding back to her of conversations she'd been privy to. She now remembered that Nott didn't care very much for his father. Still, he was a right git and she shot him a look of disgust when he wasn't looking.

"How did you sleep, Jean?" Nott asked in between mouthfuls.

Hermione took a calming breath as she attempted to play the role of daft and demure Jean. "Very well, _Lord Nott_ , thank you for asking."

"You're quite lucky you don't have duties like the rest of us, Jean. What I wouldn't give to retire in luxury without a care in the world."

Malfoy shot Nott a withering look.

"Oh yes, I'm _dead lucky_." It was all she could do to keep her voice light.

She turned her attention back to the sweetened fruit in front of her, but it was difficult to eat with the knots that were forming in her stomach.

"Would you like to go flying today, Jean?" Malfoy asked, and Hermione bristled inwardly. "We would stay within the manor grounds, of course."

"I'm awfully frightened of heights, Draco," she nearly choked on his first name. "Perhaps some other time? I'd very much like to read my book in the greenhouse, if you don't mind."

He eyed her shrewdly before his face fell back into it's perfectly controlled mask. "Not at all," he said, inclining his head.

She finished her meal, her head pounding so hard she could hardly tune into what Malfoy and Nott were discussing. She quickly excused herself, and forced herself to walk slowly to the greenhouse. She scanned the area, the canopy of lavender and white flowers blurring in front of her, before she fled for the exit. She ducked under the arborway and made a break for the cluster of ancient dogwood trees that edged the manor parameter.

Hoping she was concealed behind the fringe of trees, she sensed immediately the powerful Malfoy wards from only several feet away. She gripped the stolen cherrywood wand fiercely, summoning her magic in dark, angry waves. It crackled and skipped around her, stretching playfully like a wild cat, begging to be put to use. She stared determinedly through the invisible wards to the open countryside of Wiltshire, hoping she could break through.

Before she had the opportunity to try it, she felt a strong hand grasp her wrist. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breathing hitched as she wrenched her arm away. _Bloody Morganna—not him—not now_! So many feelings assaulted her at the same time but she felt one that was stronger than them all and she reached for it desperately. "Malfoy," she hissed, whirling on the wizard and training her wand at his chest. "Back way—I'm warning you."

"Granger," he swallowed thickly. "Going to attack your own husband?" He chuckled darkly. "I knew you'd return eventually, but I must admit; I think I'll miss Jean."

"How dare you," she raged.

He put his hands up in surrender. "Just breath, Granger. You can't do any permanent damage to me anyway. The vows, remember?"

She held her wand steadily. "I can have fun trying. Besides, what can you possibly have to say for yourself?" He sighed and she continued, undeterred. "Just because my mind had… _slipped_ , was no reason for you to take advantage of me!"

He winced and turned away. Some silly part of her wanted him to look back at her so she could read his expression. "You won't simply be able to leave, Granger. There are wards, the Dark Lord's own spells."

"I don't care—I _can_ break them."

"I'm sure you can, but you'd have the entire newly rebuilt snatcher division descending down on you. I advise caution."

"I care _not_ for your advice— _you used me_." The charge lay heavily in the air. "I had no say _whatsoever_ …"

He deliberately faced her accusatory stare. "You seemed to enjoy it well enough." It was the wrong thing to say. She summoned her magic, allowing it to culminate around them. It fizzled ominously as it pressed up against Malfoy in all it's oppressive glory. He swore. "Sorry, Granger. That wasn't what I intended…I didn't mean…"

She ignored his apology. "That's hardly fair, _Malfoy_. The things they did to me," her voice caught and she took a deep breath before continuing, "it made a hole so big and so empty, I'd fill it with _anything,_ even _you_ ," she spat. She took a step towards him, her face set in righteous fury. "You go to Azkaban and have the Dementors suck you to a dry, indistinguishable husk, day after day. You're only a shell of your former self. See if you wouldn't try to fill the emptiness with anything other than emptiness."

"I know-"

"No, you really don't!" She pointed her wand higher, realizing she'd let it drop slightly. "I'll kill you for what you've done to me."

"Regretfully, you can't, or else maybe I'd let you. Your _Avada_ would simply shrivel up and die."

"There are other ways," she insisted.

"Just hear me out and lower your wand." He took a tentative step forward.

"Like hell I will."

"I have your best interests in mind."

Her eyes smoldered with hatred. "Like you did when you turned us in?"

"I did what I had to survive."

"You were cowardly," she countered.

"I'm trying to do better now."

" _Nothing_ can forgive what you did. You got the only person that could kill Vol-, _You-Know-Who_ , murdered." She realized she was panting slightly, her chest heaved up and down. She noticed the muscles of her forearm were tensed, muscles she was horrified to remember gaining thanks to nights spent in various positions with him. She flushed despite herself, glancing up in panic, only to find stormy silver eyes boring into hers. She swallowed audibly.

"Listen, Granger-"

"No, I won't! You're pathetic, Malfoy. I despise you!"

"You have every right to hate me, but…don't forget who got you out…who _believed_ in you…who _forced_ you to remember."

"If you expect my thanks you're _not_ getting it."

"My point is…I'm your husband and like it or not—we're bound. You want revenge, _I get that_ , and I can help you.."

"Keep talking."

"Everything isn't lost. There's still hope for you're idyllic future." His eyes flickered over hers and she felt a stab of induced longing. She forced the notion away, defending against it with righteous fury. "A new rebellion has risen up, in Algiers. The resistance is hidden deep in the jungle. It's where _he's_ been sending us. Snape is-"

"Snape is a traitor," she roared, tears springing unbidden to her eyes. To her horror, it looked like Malfoy wanted to reach for her.

"No, he's been loyal this whole time. He's been mentoring me. It took a while to gain his trust, but now he's confided in me." She had the sudden inclination that she was spinning, and wished desperately to hold onto reason, lest her sanity flee her again. This was wrong, _so wrong_. Malfoy couldn't mean to make her believe everything she knew was reversed? "There's more. I can tell you everything… _I want to_ , but I have to teach you Occlumency first." Her legs shook and her vision blurred at the edges of her eyes. She wanted badly for something stable to hold onto. She wasn't sure if Malfoy sensed the way she wavered, or how she swayed precariously, but he stepped forward, carefully as if approaching a lone kelpie. "I guess what I'm saying is…Granger, will you give me a chance?"

He reached his hand out to her and the desire to take it nearly overwhelmed her. The wheels of her head spun frantically as the craving to accept his help flared hot and burning in her chest. She reached for his outstretched hand, relishing in the warm feel of his fingertips. He held on to her firmly, the only solitary thing in the buzzing, spinning madness that surrounded her.

"Malfoy," she choked. "I…I want to know _everything_."

"Of course you do, Granger. Let me help you, love."

She didn't argue any further as she looped her arm through his and allowed him to lead them both back to the manor. What other option was there? She had no idea how to navigate through this new, Voldemort controlled world. Her best bet lie with Malfoy… _for now_.

**~oOo*oOo~**

* * *

_**-at this point, we are caught up to the comp. seven new chapters coming soon. Please let me know what you think!-** _


	4. False Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's been a busy month! Sorry this was a little late coming. I have the next chapter partially written so that one should be up a big quicker! Can I just say? I'm super pleased with all the feedback this story is getting. It really inspires me to keep writing the story so thanks for the motivation! I hope you like the next installment C:
> 
> Beta Love to: The amazing and marvelous RooOJoy 3
> 
> Inspiration: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim-The City Gates and all my Beyond the Book FanFiction Nook buddies on FB!

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione had never been one to live in denial. She found it much more logical to face one's problems head on than ignore them, but never in her life, had she faced an obstacle as significant as the one she currently found herself in.

She didn't know what to do with herself.

Usually there was a clear direction for which she could go, something she could fight for, but here she was just vulnerable, reliant on others to guide her. Others like… _Malfoy_.

She didn't want to think about him _right now_. Really, anything was better than thinking about him. He made her brain feel fuzzy, and she didn't like the feeling. She could do without thinking of the way his eyes were open and honest, his pointed features etched with concern, or the way he had a sort of resigned look about himself, like he thought it all hopeless either way, but was incomprehensibly willing to help. He was her enemy—the last thing she wanted was _his help_.

 _But it's not hopeless,_ she internally rallied. _He's already said there's something—something he can't risk telling me until I've learned Occlumency, so I simply must learn Occlumency, and must suffer him to teach it to me._

Hermione wished she could simply claim she was unwell and skip tea with Narcissa. She'd rather not have to endure the stiff affair, especially after feeling drained and depleted post escape attempt. Yet even if Malfoy spoke up on her behalf, she didn't doubt it would raise questions, and as lovely as the older witch had been to Jean, Hermione had no doubt the true snake in Narcissa would rear it's ugly head should she have any reason to suspect Hermione.

She continued to pace in her room, feeling helpless. Her brain was too exhausted to conjure up any viable solutions to her current situation, so she was forced to suffer through it in the gaudy place.

She despised her room.

She couldn't understand how Jean had adored it so. With it's rich shades of blue and garish crown molding—Hermione thought she must be immersed in a Gothic drama and this was all some horrible dream. The worse thing was; it was a constant reminder of the person she had become. She'd turned into a person she didn't recognize. Who was this meek, demure little creature? Her true self had been repressed almost to the point of extinction, and the thought was frightening. What was even more demoralizing, was the fact that Hermione would have to play the part of 'Jean' for the foreseeable future. It was only Malfoy that she could truly be herself around.

The intellectual side of her wanted to explore the odd occurrence that had happened to her. From a science perspective, she found it oddly fascinating that a traumatic event of this nature could force her to cope in the way she had, could force her to morph into someone entirely different. For Jean was different from herself. She had to compartmentalize _her_ separately, lest she go insane. She was _Hermione_ , and when she slipped into Jean again, she would simply be playing a role, nothing more.

 _Like Malfoy. He's quite excellent at playing rolls. I just need to take some advice from him and then I'll be fit to go._ She halted her pacing, pinching the bridge of her nose. _Bloody Morgana, but I'm in quite the predicament._

She thought back to her earlier conversation with her…husband. He'd been reluctant to leave her. He was quite insistent on hovering over her and it made her sick to her stomach. Why he thought he needed to coddle her was beyond her. Despite the fact that she may have had a minor panic attack on the immaculate Malfoy grounds just minutes before, the last thing she desired was him to worry over her. He'd escorted her to her room, and she could tell he wanted to stay, though she was unsure if it was out of concern for her or fear she would try to leave again. Whatever the case was, she was saved from having to come up with anymore excuses. His Death Eater mark had burned, and she saw him briefly wince from the pain of it, yet he was used to it and he'd quickly schooled his features. Her stomach had churned at the implication…the reminder.

"Get out," she had snarled.

This time, he left her in peace. Though she quickly found she wasn't really at peace at all. If anything, she felt worse when he left her. A sort of coldness had seeped into the room. As much as she hated to even acknowledge the possibility, when he was nearer to her, she felt safer. _A side effect of the vows, I'm sure._ She fiddled with the dangling sleeves of her gown, hating them too, hating everything.

She knew nothing about the world in which she lived. Malfoy had tried to explain, but she couldn't fathom the picture he was painting for her. A Voldemort controlled world? How could this have happened? How could anyone have stood by and let it? Was there not anyone left to fight? Evil was not supposed to prevail—it _never_ worked like that.

The oppressed always overthrew their oppressors, eventually, but was that even possible now? Did Muggles stand a chance against wizards? And how had they managed it? Muggles with their weapons and their bombs, how had Voldemort and his forces detained them all, to the point that no one was resisting? How were incompetent pricks like Nott and Crabbe aiding in accomplishing such an extraordinary feat? And with one last rebellion, in Algiers, of all places? Hermione tried to wrack her brain for what she knew of Algiers, but as far as she could recall, it was merely a desert wasteland. How was a resistance thriving there? So many questions, and so few answers! It was infuriating. Hermione had the strong inclination to pull her newly nurtured hair out.

_You're married to a Death Eater…he's just been summoned to his master…the Dark Lord who laid waste to all you know in this world…who killed Ron and Harry! …You're married to a Death Eater—you live in a house full of them. You have to meet one for tea in an hour._

"Mimsy," Hermione cried in distress.

The elf appeared immediately. "Can Mimsy help the young Mistress?"

"Draw me a bath, please." She needed a long soak to think it all over.

**~oOo*oOo~**

_Gods, I wish the man would have left me a Draught of Living Peace_ , she thought, as she walked, head ducked, next to Narcissa. The bath had done little to ease her inner turmoil, she still wanted to rip off her obnoxiously pink gown, and stomp all over it. It felt wrong to wear something so pretty when others were suffering. It felt frivolous.

She felt like a coward.

Defeated.

Tears threatened at her eyes and it was difficult to keep up with Narcissa's purposeful stride.

"We'll eat in the upstairs sitting room today," Narcissa called over her shoulder. "Would you like that, Jean?"

 _I would like it better if you left me to wallow in my sorrow in peace!_ "Yes, Narcissa."

"Lady Nott isn't joining us today, regrettably. She's taken ill."

Hermione only nodded in response, an image of the modest and shy newlywed flickered across her mind. She hoped Nott was taking care of the girl. She didn't know what to think of Alice Nott bringing a child into the world. It struck her as wrong on so many levels, but memories of the usually shy girl gushing about her pregnancy to Jean made Hermione not want to begrudge the Muggle-born this small happiness.

They passed down a hallway she hadn't been down before, and she worked hard to keep her eyes trained on the plush carpet.

"A Mudblood," a deep, masculine voice squawked from directly beside her on the wall. "Walking along the halls of my house, bold as brass. Scum of our family! Purge them all!"

Her eyes widened in alarm and she lost her footing. The carpet was not as soft and inviting as it seemed when it came up sharply to meet her.

"Septimus," Narcissa hissed. "Just because you are magically stuck to the wall with a permanent sticking charm does not mean I won't put an equally permanent drape over your portrait."

"Filthy blood-traitor."

"How would you like to spend the next hundred years blinded, old man? Test me again and see if I don't follow through."

Hermione, sprawled in a most unladylike fashion on the floor, drew hastily to her feet, and Narcissa helped her the rest of the way.

"Don't mind him." She waved her hand flippantly. "Every family has one, right?"

Hermione nodded, not feeling the need to remind the witch she had no family to refer to. Still, she was taken by surprise by her words to the immortalized portrait. Narcissa continued to catch her off-guard. As much as she didn't trust the woman, she couldn't help but admire the way in which she protected her family.

"Ah, here we are."

Hermione followed closely behind and entered into a room decorated in pale yellows and light woods. Small sandwiches were laid out on a trays next to the loveliest tea service she'd ever seen. There was a three tiered tower that held various tarts and desserts. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered.

"Please take a seat, dear," Narcissa instructed.

She did as she was bid, taking the linen and laying it delicately over her lap. A new wave of guilt passed over her as she looked at the spread Mimsy had prepared. How many people out there were suffering…were starving under Voldemort's rule? And here she was, playing tea parties and dress up, when who knew how many people would be grateful for the crumbs off of their table? The amount of food set before them was positively wasteful. The thought made bile rise up in her throat.

"Are you alright, dear?" Narcissa asked, grey eyes trained intensely on her.

"Yes, Narcissa." She smoothed out her robes and attempted to channel the doe-eyed-Jean she was supposed to be. "I'm just missing Draco."

Her explanation seemed to satisfy her, and she reached in her robes, withdrawing a vial.

"Ah, of course. I know it's hard being separated from one's husband. Lucius is often called to the Ministry at a moment's notice, as well."

Hermione could hardly focus on what Narcissa was saying as she eyed the vial with trepidation. The older witch removed the stopper and poured it into a teacup before filling the cup with tea.

"Honey, lemon, and sugar cubes are all right here," Narcissa said, gesturing to the tray.

"And the potion, Narcissa?" Hermione was pleased she was able to keep the tremor from her voice.

"A fertility potion." She plucked a lemon and raspberry tart off of the tray. "Do get some lunch, dear. You've managed to gain some weight since you came to us malnourished, but you are still far too skinny."

Hermione had to grip her cloth-covered thighs of her pink dress to keep her from trembling with rage. _A fertility potion. Do you think I'm fit to birth children,_ she wanted to scream. _If I drink this potion, I can never have sex with Malfoy again. Bringing a child into this world in this situation is a crime._

Calming herself, Hermione mixed her tea. That was the perfect solution, really. It was silly to even worry about it. Of course it wasn't as if Malfoy would force her, and she _certainly_ wouldn't be throwing herself at him.

"Perhaps you are pregnant already," Narcissa said, dabbing her napkin at the corner of her lips.

Hermione choked and sputtered on her tea.

Narcissa smiled. "Don't worry, Jean; motherhood is not so scary. It would be a good thing if you were; you would never have to worry about going back…nevermind."

"To Azkaban?"

Narcissa pressed her lips in a thin line. "Yes, dear. To Azkaban. The only way to assure the Ministry takes their eye off of you is to successfully conceive. I've no doubt you're capable—you don't have the same infertility issues Pureblood witches face, but you have been through an ordeal, so the potion should help rectify that."

_So the only way to assure my safety is by bringing an innocent life into danger. Not bloody likely._

"The Ministry seems…strict," Hermione hazarded carefully. "Do you like things as they are now?"

Narcissa appraised her with her sharp grey eyes once more and Hermione fought to look open and honest. It seemed like a fair question, something Jean would ask.

"That's a tough question, Jean. It seems the danger aspect is far greater now than it was before. To be perfectly honest, I've always been able to tolerate Muggles. This world is still very new, and I'm learning my way around in it. But that's what women do, right, Jean?"

"What's that?"

"We survive and adapt."

Hermione smiled, and this time it wasn't a false smile. Despite whether or not Narcissa could be trusted, she admired the woman. Narcissa cared for her family, and Hermione was starting to believe the blond witch put them above all else. Perhaps even Voldemort and his ruthless regime?

**~oOo*oOo~**

It was surprising how comfortable Hermione could feel in the same room as Narcissa and Lucius. They were seated in the first floor sitting room, Lucius smoking his pipe and reading the Prophet, while Narcissa sat on the cocktail bench reading a book. Hermione forgot where she was for a moment, spread out on the davenport reading _Sonnets of a Sorcerer._ She almost felt like she was back home with her parents— _almost_. She had gazed periodically at the entryway when she'd first started reading, to check for Malfoy, but she soon became engrossed in her book.

Lucius and Narcissa made good company…quiet company, until Lucius would read something that would get his blood boiling.

"Fucking Algiers again," he snarled at no one in particular. "How are they able to evade us still when the entire British Ministry has our eye trained on them?"

"Isn't it just a desert wasteland?" Hermione asked, unthinkingly. "How does one hide in such a barren place?"

She flipped a page in her book before noticing that neither Narcissa nor Lucius had answered her. Looking up, she saw them both eyeing her curiously. _Sodding hell_.

"Where'd you hear that, Jean?" Narcissa asked.

"I read it in a book" She shrugged, feigning innocence. "Draco and Theo often talk about going. I wanted to see where it was they were leaving for."

Narcissa visibly relaxed and Lucius sat back in his chair.

"Must have been a old book," Lucius remarked. "New Algiers takes up half of the continent now."

"It's southern border is the one with the issues, Jean," Narcissa explained. "That's where the fighting is."

"Oh," Hermione said, nodding. "And why haven't they fixed the problem yet? No one is stronger than the Ministry, right?"

"The Ministry beats any ragtag resistance in _might_ , but when it's various small factions hiding…well that's harder to sniff out," Lucius answered.

"Don't worry, Jean. The Ministry will protect us from the rebels or any other threat," Narcissa assured her.

Hermione smiled happily, but really her happiness stemmed from the fact that there was still someone out there, managing to evade capture, and they were magical. It aligned perfectly with what Malfoy had told her. If she could only hold onto that little bit of hope during times when she felt like giving in, she may be able to get through this yet.

The sound of the Floo lighting up and footsteps echoing down the hall could be heard in the sitting room. Her heart lurched in her throat at the sign that Draco had returned, but panic began to churn, dark and sinister, when she realized he was joined by another.

_It's showtime._

She prayed that whoever it was that had accompanied Draco was someone she could easily fool. She had yet to learn Legilimency yet.

"Son…Vincent," Lucius stood up to greet the wizards. "How are things at the Ministry?"

Malfoy's eyes immediately sought out Hermione's, and she sat straight from her slouched position, closing her book. "Dreadfully dull and predictable," he answered in that same haughty tone she remembered from school, though she associated much more danger with it now. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself? His confident, yet graceful strides?

Crabbe had changed as well. The chubby bully she'd known at Hogwarts had thinned out considerably. She remembered hearing something about his father dying in the war and wondered if that had anything to do with it. His eyes were as dark as his hair and Hermione didn't like the way he seemed to be leering at her. A part of her wished Malfoy would reprimand him— _harshly_. She instantly regretted the thought. Malfoy was _not_ her savior. It was dangerous to even consider him in such a light.

"Boring," Crabbe agreed. "Until the end of the day." He smirked in Malfoy's direction.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and Malfoy averted his gaze.

"They brought in Muggles and Mudbloods to test out in court—you know—for the hold outs. The wizards that wanted to test what they were purchasing, if you know what I mean." Crabbe shared a wicked laugh with Lucius.

"Crabbe," Malfoy snapped. "Not in front of my mother and wife, _please_." A Muscle clenched distractedly by his eye.

"They did this at the Ministry?" Hermione asked, disbelief coloring her face. "In front of everyone?"

"Say," Crabbe said, eyes raking over her up and down. "You didn't mention she still has the Granger-sass."

Hermione tried not to visibly fume at his complete disregard to answer her, as if she were merely property not fit to converse with.

"Of course she does," Malfoy said silkily. "Why else, do you think I asked for her specifically?"

"Kinky." Crabbe grinned his approval.

"That's what the Dark Lord said."

Hermione feared she may spontaneously combust if she was made to listen to them for a moment longer. When Lucius reached for his ever-present crystal decanter of Ogden's Old, she motioned for him to pour her a glass as well. If she was to suffer being in the presence of the unwelcome Death Eater, she would do so with a head change. She couldn't wait to get Malfoy alone.

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Where are we going?" She asked him in a hushed tone, mildly put off guard when he didn't take her to his room or hers.

"The dungeons," he whispered back. "We can be as loud as we want down there."

"I don't want to be loud at all." She made to wrench from his grasp, but he was unrelenting.

Even though it was dark, she could tell he had turned to face her. "You're being loud right now," he pointed out. "Besides, don't you want to talk?"

Those were the magic words and Hermione relaxed in his grasp. She had no other choice, lost as she was in the dark, but to follow him around the twists and turns.

"Not even a lumos?"

He shushed her.

"So paranoid," she muttered under her breath.

They descended the dungeon stairs, and he quickly ushered her inside. " _Colloportus_ ," he said, flicking his wand. " _Muffliato_."

Hermione watched him, hands perched above her hips, in what little light she was given thanks to the sconces burning low on the dungeon wall.

"Bloody Morgana, but it's your own house."

"You never can be too comfortable." He gestured to a chair behind her. "Take a seat."

She did so, smoothing her dress and wishing for the tenth time that day for a pair of blue jeans.

He adjusted his collar. When he spoke, his tone was crisp and businesslike. "Have you had some time to collect yourself?"

She scoffed. "Don't tell me you think I overreacted?" Her head whirled as she thought to earlier when she'd made her escape attempt. The firewhiskey was clouding her brain and she leaned forward in her seat urgently. "I reacted the way any normal person would," she stressed.

"And I'm sure you're teeming with questions for me."

He paced in front of her, and Hermione could not help but think how dapper he looked in his black suit with his dragonhide belt. _Quit letting your mind wander_.

"Yes," she sputtered. "Actually, I think you promised you would tell me everything."

"Once you learned Occlumency," he reminded.

"Well, how long will it take for you to teach me? We should have been doing that all along!"

"Your mind was fragile, but we can start tonight if you wish."

"I just don't get what's in it for you, Malfoy."

He ran a hand through his hair and Hermione felt her mind start to wander again as she watched his fingers thread through the platinum tresses. "Become a skilled Legilimens, and you can know exactly what I'm thinking," he challenged.

She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling chilled. "Can't you tell me something, _anything_?"

"Suffice it to say I always had a _fascination_ with you. Whether I perceived that fascination to be one of disdain in the early stages is neither here nor there, but when I was presented with an opportunity to act on it, I did so."

A fascination, she could certainly relate to that. If she were being honest with herself, she'd have to admit—she was always curious about the Slytherin—arch nemesis or not.

"A fascination, some may call that a crush."

He shrugged. "Call it what you will."

"That I should be so fortunate to have caught your attention." She shook her head, honey brown eyes blatantly meeting his. "And when was this opportunity, with the marriage law?"

"Before," he answered cryptically.

She furrowed her brows in confusion. "That doesn't make sense—"

"Leave it be," he ordered. "Now do you want to start your first lesson, or not?"

"Fine," she seethed. "But don't think this conversation is over."

"You can ask more questions when you've proved your skill," he promised.

"I still haven't told you about what your mother did to me today."

His head snapped up sharply. "She didn't hurt you?"

"She may as well have. She gave me a damned fertility potion. Malfoy, _what the fuck_. I'm not having your child."

His features hardened to steel and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees in the already icy dungeon.

"You do see that we can't," she pressed. "It would be a completely irresponsible thing for us to do."

"The Dark Lord has assured he would not interfere in my… _indulgence_ , as he calls it, but Granger, if I don't put a baby in your belly, that's the one thing he won't tolerate. It could mean a one way ticket to Azkaban for you."

"Do you really think I'd bring a child into this mad world just so I could live a life of opulence?"

"Would me impregnating you really be so bad, Granger?" His mouth was set cruelly, and his face was all harsh lines. She couldn't see the Malfoy she had come to know, or rather that Jean had come to know, the past several weeks anywhere in the face before her.

"Don't be dense, it isn't about that." She gestured flippantly. "It's about having the courage to do what's right."

A glint appeared in his eyes. "Maybe you're the one that's wrong. Maybe bringing a child into this world and raising him or her on your belief system would bring hope to this world. Maybe it would continue the fight."

"As if you or your parents would ever let me," she snapped. "You manipulative bastard."

The light drained from his face and Hermione had a brief moment of doubt. _Don't be silly. He can't really mean to have your best interest at heart_ , her inner lioness roared.

"How very gracious of you," he said stiffly. "Then we best start with the false memories and hope for your sake, the Dark Lord is patient."

"False memories?"

"Stand against the stone wall, under the sconce," he instructed.

Hermione drew herself up from her seat, riddled with doubt as she glanced at the wall, then glanced at him, noticing the way he was divesting himself of his cloak and then rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt.

"What are you going to do?"

"If the Dark Lord searches through your memories, he's going to want to see our more intimate times together. You'll have to conceal the more softer interactions, and instead have other memories to shove at him, in order to satisfy his curiosity. If we do this correctly, he should only have reason to check you once. I don't see it being a common thing, unless he suspects you."

Hermione gulped. "Can't I just…block him?"

"Granger—I'm an excellent Occlumens and even I wouldn't block him. That would just piss him off. We aren't trying to make him suspicious, just trick him, right? You'll need to have dull memories ready for him. Flipping through picture books, getting your hair done, walking the garden, chatting with the girls, me being distant with you…but you'll need to have this too, do you understand?"

She nodded uncertainly, and walked to the wall, pressing her back against it.

"It's not easy to give a Legilimens memories you want them to see and make them think it's what they're searching for, but the first step is actually making them. Whatever happens, know that I won't hurt you, not truly, and I won't mean the words I say. Do you wish to continue?"

"You're not going to… _really_ do anything?"

"It's an illusion. It just has to look that way in your eyes, and then that's the way he'll see it."

"Do whatever you need to do."

Malfoy nodded once he had her permission. Hermione could hardly meet his intense silver stare as she felt heat creep up her neck.

" _Nox_ ," he whispered, purging the room in darkness.

She couldn't hear anything but her own heavy breathing, and worked hard to get it under control. This _was Malfoy_ , and he was acting, only acting, and playing a dangerous game. She needed to act too.

With a twist of his wand, he silently cast the blue flames charm and the dungeon was illuminated once again, this time in an eerie light.

Afraid to meet his gaze, she summoned all the courage she could muster, and turned her head to face him, heart hammering in her chest as she did so. The sadistic curl of his lip and the lust that burned in his eyes should have caused her to run in fright, but she was frozen in place.

"Mudblood," he snarled, closing the gap between them. "I finally have you in my clutches, all to myself. There's no Potter to save you now."

 _They're just words_ , she reminded herself. _Meaningless words_.

"Please," she stuttered, and she didn't even need to pretend. "Don't hurt me. I don't know what you're talking about."

He swiped his finger under her eye and she realized she had shed a tear. "You're frightened. That's good. I like my women frightened."

His hands drew to her chilled arms, and he ran his fingers down the length of them before capturing her wrists and pinning them above her head. She made a vain attempt to fight him, but he easily overpowered her, and she resigned to thrashing her head back and forth.

"Please," she tried again.

"No amount of begging will save you," he promised.

He continued to pin her wrists with his left hand while his right hand caressed her side before descending to her hip and gripping it harshly. Then he was kissing her, hot and demanding. It was difficult not to respond when he was dominating her so. She was completely at his mercy and she had to remember that this was all an act. Malfoy would not hurt her and he would not take her tonight. The thought gave her a mixture of relief and inexplicably, regret.

"I meant to tell you how delectable you looked in that pink dress of yours," he said huskily against her neck. "Sitting next to my Death Eater parents at dinner tonight." Something akin to need ignited in her veins and the next time she thrashed against him, it was instinctively to feel more of him pressed against her. "I wanted to tell you how I would rip it off of you, how I would have you naked and writhing underneath me before the night is up."

Heat bloomed low in her abdomen, and she was suddenly forgetting about the game. _What the bloody hell is wrong with you?_ A voice was screaming in her head, perhaps the last remnants of her sanity. _You're not supposed to like this. Who in their right mind would like this?_

He palmed her roughly through the bodice of her chest and Hermione bit back a moan. Her legs were spreading further apart, _as if to accommodate him_ , and she clamped them tightly in horror. But then his hand dropped from her hip to her thigh and he was wrenching them apart as best as he could, and just when he made a little leadway, he thrust his leg in between hers, preventing her from closing him out again.

She was thankful her hands were safely secured above her head because they had a mind of their own and all they wanted to do was feel the hard muscles and ridges Hermione knew lay under his shirt.

"If only your friends could see you now. The Gryffindor princess, fucking Iron-Knickers, and completely at my mercy."

She couldn't look him in the eye, she couldn't let him see what she was really feeling. He couldn't be aware of the way her body was on fire for him, that she couldn't act worth anything and this wasn't an act, and damn him for being such a compartmentalizing Slytherin.

He bunched her gown up roughly around her thighs, using his arm to keep it there while his fingers drew higher. His head came down to suckle one cloth covered breast and he pressed his prominent erection in between the vee of her thighs. She pressed her lips down hard to keep from whimpering as delicious tremors raced through her body.

His fingers flexed just below where she wanted them to be, but he had stopped their ascent, and she could tell he wanted to explore further, he _would certainly_ be able to see she wasn't acting, but he stopped, _ever a man of his word_ , apparently. She suddenly felt very guilty about doubting him earlier.

She wanted the freedom of her hands.

She yearned to feel his hands wandering over her soft curves.

This was an act and he was saying deplorable things and she was wretched for being as turned on as she was but sod it all, she wanted him _inside her_.

He pressed against her with deliberate possession and his fingers dared higher, finding the silk of her knickers.

"Filthy," he rambled. "Your blood is filthy."

His words were barely coherent and strangely spurred her on more. A distant part of her wondered what Azkaban had done to her, that she would find this pleasurable. But she did, _gods how she did_. He struggled to navigate one handed and finally, he dropped his left hand to hold up her gown and grip her waist.

She may have gotten what she wanted, she may have gotten him to break like she did, if she'd been more careful with her newly bestowed freedom. She jerked at the feel of his light touch where she was so sensitive, but her arms anchored themselves securely around his neck, and she was nuzzling his ear, her legs spreading wider for him, and she couldn't keep the soft sounds at bay anymore when he brushed against her.

Hissing, he drew several steps away from her in seconds. She found herself, unsecured and wobbly on her feet.

"Granger," he rasped, the sound grating her ears. "What _the fuck_ was that?"

She felt suddenly cold and worked hard to find her breathing. "I was…acting," she ventured tremulously, feeling very much like Jean.

"And doing a damned good job of it. Sorry, but it was getting a little too real for me."

"Oh?" she offered pathetically.

He sighed and turned away from her, catching his breath. "Perhaps we should try again, sans the Oden's Old?"

Hermione nodded stiffly, feeling wretched and ashamed. The former Slytherin had far more control than she did. For once, she did not need to pretend to be Jean, she acted demure and shy all on her own.

**~oOo*oOo~**

 


	5. First Outing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I'm so happy to bring the next chapter to the awesome readers of this story. You're reviews are awesome-thanks for that! I'm super stoked to write the next two chapters, especially, because they are going to get so intense. Please let me know what you think and happy reading!**
> 
>  
> 
> Beta Love to wonderful RoOjoy and the lovely Carly C:
> 
> Inspiration: Ratatat station on Pandora

 

 

**~oOo*oOo~**

Draco sat in the luxurious armchair behind his extravagant mahogany desk, a stack of scrolls with the High Mage's insignia stamped over them in his direct line of vision. He rolled his eyes; the last thing he wanted to do was busy work, but the quicker he got it done, the quicker he could leave.

His mind wouldn't stop wandering back to the previous night, when he'd had Hermione pressed up against the dungeon wall, her dress bunched around her thighs, whispering atrocious things to her. He'd been incredibly focused, knowing exactly what he wanted to do, and the picture he wanted to paint should the Dark Lord graze her mind, but then things had taken a turn.

Everything would have been fine if she could have remained fearful, kept whimpering and pleading, but her body seemed to have yielded to him, seemed to have responded, and then his plan had fissured and cracked. He could have simply been reading her wrong, he was probably just a sick twisted bastard, but the idea of her finding pleasure sent any conscious thought fleeing his mind, and he was quickly forgetting about his carefully formulated plan.

A most grievous error on his part.

There wasn't time to play; lives were at stake. He could only play the role of a double agent for so long before he slipped. He wished he could gain Hermione's trust completely, he knew of one way to do so irrevocably, but there was no way to entrust her with that knowledge until she proved herself adept at blocking Legilimency.

Perhaps he could elicit Snape's help. If anyone could teach Occlumency, it was him. But the Headmaster had his hands full at Hogwarts; he could scarcely find time to get away. Still, Draco feared their history and his overwhelming attraction for her stood in the way of him teaching her properly.

He was jolted from his thoughts by a rap on the door.

He straightened from his chair and strode to the door. As he suspected, Ethel stood on the other side.

"Miss Penrose," he said, by way of greeting.

The mousey witch regarded him timidly over heavy spectacles. "Lord Malfoy, you sent for me?"

He gestured to the stack of scrolls. "I found Hopkirk with these in hand, about to take them to the Owlery."

"But you wanted them hand delivered, my Lord."

"Exactly. These are far too important to be dropped on the door of the Ministries." Draco steepled his fingers under his chin, brows furrowed. "There's a big world out there and many people to rule. Of chief importance is ensuring our subjugate Ministries follow our standards to the T. I need my team to see they are delivered in person, and that the directions are understood. There can be no discrepancies."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Take whomever you require for this task, but see it is done successfully. Should you face any difficulty, remind them what happened to the American Ministry when the Dark Lord saw the need to make a personal appearance."

"As you say, Lord Malfoy."

Draco smirked viciously. "That will be all, Miss Penrose."

So long as he was forced to play both sides, he would play them well. He would give no one at the Ministry reason to suspect him.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione stifled a yawn as she sat in the sitting room, wand clenched in her hand as she raised it over the gray and purple yarn on her lap. A memory flicked across her mind as she remembered how her mum and her grandma used to knit afghans, the Muggle way. She felt her throat constrict as she pictured their faces—faces she would never see again.

Pushing the troubled thoughts aside lest she tear up in front of Narcissa and Alice, she focused on the task at hand, wishing for something stronger in her tea.

Sleep had evaded her the night before, and she could hardly keep her eyes from drooping. Ever since coming to Malfoy manor, she'd usually rested quite well in the evenings, but her sleep had been fitful since she'd come back to herself. _You also slept with him most nights_ , she unwillingly reminded herself.

The last thing she wanted to do was think about Malfoy. She'd acted poorly during her first Occlumency lesson, or rather, her forced memory session. He had meant to give her material she could use should someone ever sweep her mind, material that would keep her safe and fail to implicate either of them. She couldn't even keep it together long enough to let him accomplish that without turning into some needy mess.

Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the way his hands had roved over her body, the kisses that had left a fiery trail, his cruel words that miraculously seemed only to spur her desire.

She was well and truly fucked.

If she didn't get it together, she could say goodbye to any hope that he would clue her in on the operations he'd hinted at.

She narrowed her eyes in disgust at the busywork in her lap. How she longed to wield her magic—powerful and free. Chancing a glance at Alice, she saw the Muggle-born was struggling with the simple task, and against her nature, Hermione tried to struggle too, lest she bring unwanted attention to herself.

"You're doing well, girls," Narcissa said, beaming at them. "It will come to you, just be patient."

Hermione tried to keep her face expressionless as she focused on making the easy wandwork look difficult.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to get it." Alice sighed, staring at the loose loops of yarn she'd managed to weave. "Theo will be very displeased with me if I'm not practiced at the skills a proper housewife should have."

Hermione suppressed an eyeroll. "He won't either," she informed the timid girl. "You're carrying his child and he couldn't be more ecstatic with you."

Narcissa glanced at her and Hermione wondered if she had spoken out of turn, but the older witch's eyes held no suspicion, merely sympathy. "Don't worry, dear," she said, addressing Hermione. "Soon you will find yourself in the same, wonderful disposition as Alice."

_Lovely._

"Yes." Alice smiled warmly at Hermione. "Your situation was entirely different than mine. I imagine there is much recovery to be had after wizard prison."

A flash of irritation passed over Narcissa's face, but Hermione could only summon amusement at Alice's attempt to console her. She wasn't surprised to note that Nott was quite the talker.

"Thank you for your kind words, Alice," Hermione said softly. "I hope you're right."

"Of course she's right." Narcissa set her now completed blanket down and delicately sipped her tea, before turning back to them. "Let's not dwell on _that_ now, not when there are things to be excited about on the horizon."

"Like going to the theater!" Alice forgot about her wandwork as excitement brimmed in her eyes.

"Theater?" Hermione felt trepidation claw to the surface as she wondered what they were referring to.

"Yes, Jean, dear." Narcissa smiled broadly. "The reenactment of the Battle of Hogwarts. Won't that be delightful?"

Hermione felt bile rise in her throat. She nodded stiffly.

"Theo is letting me shop for a gown today." Alice continued dreamily, "he says the Minister himself will likely be there."

"Most certainly. As well as the High Mage and every notable figure of the Ministry. Perhaps even some from the foreign ones." Narcissa turned her attention to Hermione again. "We can dress you in that lovely emerald green gown. I think it quite suits you."

"I can hardly wait."

**~oOo*oOo~**

It wasn't until later in the evening that Hermione was finally able to get Draco alone. She had to first endure the company of another unwelcome dinner guest, in the form of Nott who had come to collect his wife. Despite her hatred for the man, she had to admit that he did treat Alice well. He was almost tender with her, to her utter relief. _One positive mark in an otherwise abhorrent report_ , she mused.

She couldn't choke down her food fast enough, eager to leave the presence of the dark wizards. Unfortunately for Hermione, she was left to wait for Malfoy in his room long after she'd announced she was retiring for the evening.

When he finally did arrive, well into the evening, she immediately pounced on him. "Malfoy," she hissed. "I hope you're ready to explain a few things to me."

He sighed as he closed the door, then made his way to the crystal decanter he kept his firewhisky in and took his time pouring a glass.

Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, absently noticing the black decor that graced the opulent furnishings in his room. For some reason, his room didn't make her want to vomit, as hers did. _That's because it reminds you of sex_ , a voice in her head informed her rather brusquely. She angrily set her jaw as she dismissed the ridiculous thought.

"Hello, wife." He took a sip from his glass, and quirked his eyebrow in offering.

She glanced at the firewhisky, before looking back at him quickly. "No,thank you." She was immensely pleased she was able to keep the tremble from her voice. "And you don't need to call me 'wife'," she added cuttingly. "We aren't in public."

"Ah." His lips twisted upward slightly. "But we will be tomorrow. Isn't that what this little meeting is about?"

A knowing look passed over his eyes and she worked hard not to outwardly show her irritation at the effortless way he seemed able to read her.

"I hope you haven't taken liberties with my mind." She worried her lip, bothered by the endless advantages the former Slytherin seemed to have over her.

"Darling—I don't really need to—your thoughts flicker over your face like the pages of a book."

"Malfoy, enough with the pet names. And I think I'm a sight better than that—I've managed to fool your friends and family—haven't I?"

"Thus far," he admitted, setting his glass down. "Tomorrow will be the real test. And we really should practice speaking to each other in private as we would in public; it will be easier that way."

Hermione let out an indelicate snort. "I'd venture to say we've had quite enough _practice_ , as you call it, in _any_ form."

Smirking, he raised his eyebrows and to her horror, she felt a blush creep up her neck.

"I beg to differ, wife. Trust me, the last thing you'd want to do is slip up in public."

"Alright, _dear_ ," she relented. "Perhaps you have a point, but do you mind explaining this ill-advised outing we have planned tomorrow?"

He poured another glass, and held it out to her. "Come, darling, you're practically salivating for it."

"I'm not either," she raged.

"Suit yourself. Regarding your question—it's merely a trip to the theater—surely even Muggles know what that is?" He stared down at her, questioningly.

"I know what it is," she sputtered, anger burning in her eyes. "And Muggles likely invented it."

Malfoy shrugged.

"What I want to know," she continued, pacing absently around the room, "is why we have to go. Surely you can't think this is a good idea?" She looked up at him hopefully.

"Like everything, Granger, we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

She let out an indignant huff.

He scowled instantly. "Don't pout like a toddler. How would it look if we neglected to show up to a party we were expected at? Best not to arouse suspicions."

"But Malfoy, I don't…" she faltered, glancing at him uncertainly.

His gaze warmed, as if he detected her unease, and he drew closer. "Don't worry—he won't use Legilimency on you there."

"How do you know?"

"It isn't his way," he answered simply. "Making a spectacle in front of his followers would only reflect his doubt in me, and I'm supposed to be in his good graces. It would be a slight to do so."

"Are you really in," she hesitated as if the words tasted bitter on her tongue, "the Dark Lord's good graces," she gritted out.

He nodded tautly. "As well as one can be. The Dark Lord is nothing if not paranoid. No one has his explicit trust."

"I see, I just don't understand why a bunch of Death Eaters would get off going to the theater."

Malfoy shrugged. "They were promised a better world after the war, Granger, not hell."

The impact of his words cut straight into her heart. She saw the truth in them immediately. As much as she wanted to believe Purebloods were all monsters, she had to face the possibility that there were many similarities between their wants and desires. Deep down, they were humans like her.

Tears shone in her eyes, but she reined them in, turning for the door. "I do hope you're right, Malfoy, and I hope we are ready for this, to be tested in public."

"Granger, wait." He took a few steps towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "Are you sure you're sleeping alright? If you want to, you can sleep here for the night."

She tensed immediately under his hand. "Why would I want that?" Suspicion was laced in her voice.

He looked mildly uncomfortable. "I just know you'd mentioned it before, about difficulty sleeping when you weren't—"

"When I wasn't nestled in your arms?" she asked frigidly.

His shoulders stiffened and he averted her gaze.

"That was Jean, Malfoy." She turned to leave. "Not me."

"At least let me offer you a Sleeping Draught?"

She shook her head and walked through the door, making sure to close it behind her.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Looping her arm through Malfoy's, Hermione tried not to stumble in her long evening gown as they departed the Apparition Point.

She felt a sense of excitement mingled with anxiety course through her at the chance to actually be out in the real world again. Aside from the Malfoy's residence, she hadn't been anywhere since her captivity inside Azkaban. The world looked different than she had remembered it. Somehow painted in hues of blue and rather eerie, or maybe it was simply the absence of the rose colored glasses she'd always seen the world in—Azkaban had effectively stripped her of that.

"London Palladium?" she whispered to Malfoy so as not to be heard by his parents or the Notts, as the large building came into view. "But that means we're in Muggle London."

"There isn't a Muggle anything, anymore," he retorted coldly.

The corners of her lips twisted downward sadly at the reminder that she was walking through a world ravished by war and newly rebuilt in Voldemort's image—it was all foreign to her. Turning to walk, she hastened her pace to match Malfoy's purposeful strides. Out of the corners of her eyes she noticed Muggles rushing away from the witches and wizards strolling along the street. Further down the road, she saw several teenagers torturing a Muggle boy about their own age in plain sight.

Discreetly, she tugged on Malfoy's sleeve, whilst continuing to stare dead ahead at the spectacle. His hand wandered to the small of her back where he rubbed soothing circles through the silk of her gown, and she frowned at him, disgusted over the scene no one was doing anything about. He steered her sharply to the right where her view shifted abruptly. The impressive theater stood behind a beautiful courtyard, outlined simply by green hedges hovered over by flutterbies, and garish ornaments enshrouding the perimeter. Hermione could hardly notice the stunning roses that bloomed in the garden, so tempted was she to turn around and come to the aid of the Muggle boy, despite Malfoy's protective grip on her.

The night would only get worse from here, for soon she would be forced to endure the presence of Voldemort himself.

Would everything she had withstood thus far pale in comparison to the horror awaiting her? _It can't be worse than Azkaban_ , she tried to console herself. Yet the fear that held her tightly in it's grip caused her to quake in revulsion at the thought of being in such tight proximity to Voldemort—the wizard she hated more than anyone else. He made her sick to her stomach and she yearned for freedom… _and vengeance_. Fear clawed in the pit of her abdomen at the realization she should probably not be thinking such things in the vicinity of the most powerful dark wizards in the world, but the thought nagged at her brain nonetheless.

"Dra-co," a feminine voice crooned.

Hermione looked up to see none other than her childhood nemesis, Pansy, flanked by her everpresent followers, Daphne and Millicent. She was clad in a stunning black gown, that accentuated her tall and thin figure. She wore diamonds around her neck and wrist. Her friends may as well have been clones of her, and Hermione was surprised to find that Millicent had dropped weight. Gone was the chubby girl she'd known since Hogwarts. It seemed the war had affected even the favored Purebloods.

She made to hug him, but did so awkwardly, as Malfoy did not release Hermione from his hold. A flicker of irritation passed over Pansy's flawless face, but ever the Slytherin, she recovered quickly, smiling brightly at her friend.

"And Theo." She embraced the brunette Slytherin. "How I've missed you. I'm used to Draco hiding out, but you too?"

"I'm not hiding," Nott almost whined. "I'm very busy, with my work at the Ministry, and my new wife," he gestured to Alice who looked akin to a frightened deer. Hermione hoped the girl realized she was in a pit of vipers.

"Pansy, won't you say hello to the new brides?" Narcissa demanded pointedly.

Pansy and Daphne exchanged terse glances, before drawing their attention to the girls.

Daphne turned to address Alice. "Hello, little bird. I do hope you're keeping _my Theo_ thoroughly entertained. He does have a voracious appetite."

Hermione clenched her jaw in irritation to keep from snapping at the girl.

Alice sputtered in her attempt to answer a vengeful looking Daphne. "Erm…how do you do Miss Greengrass?"

Daphne neglected to answer, instead turning her gaze on Pansy who was eyeing Hermione shrewdly.

"And if it isn't the queen of all Mudbloods," Pansy said silkily. "You must be beyond pleased to land such a revered Pureblood."

"Despicable," Millicent swore.

"I know, Millie," Pansy said calmly, never taking her eyes off Hermione. "And how are you finding your accommodations at Malfoy Manor, a sight better than Azkaban prison, I'd wager?"

Hermione worked hard not to outwardly bristle as Narcissa muttered about abhorrent manners.

"Enough," said Malfoy. "You've had your fun, now leave her alone."

"I'm just being friendly." Pansy shared a rueful smile with her girls. "They say you've lost your mind," she said, turning back to Hermione, "but I don't believe that. I think that know-it-all-swot is still in there somewhere, begging to snark off. I know you're there."

Hermione batted her eyelashes, adopting a face of serene indifference. "Pleasure to meet you."

Pansy's smile dropped as Malfoy quickly ushered Hermione away, but she felt the witch's sharp eyes following her.

"Don't worry about Pansy," he whispered to her.

"But she's horrid. And then that Muggle boy—you did nothing!"

"It's called surviving, Granger. You should try it sometime. Last I checked, you were doing a shite job of it."

"That girl is positively disgusting, Malfoy. I don't see how you can stand her." She slanted her gaze over to meet his grey stare, accusation heavy in her eyes.

"The things she's had to endure…the Dark Lord's experiments…with her and the other Pureblood witches," he shuddered ever so slightly, "even you would show her sympathy."

"Doubtful."

Despite her bitterness, his words did resonate with her, and Hermione could not begin to imagine the vile sort of things Pansy and her friends had to go through.

She clutched his arm as they walked into the brightly lit theater. It was almost too bright with it's many chandeliers and Hermione had to blink several times to adjust her eyes to her surroundings. Her heart beat wildly at the loud sound of so many people conversing at once as Malfoy purposefully led her up the stairs. She felt numb as the buzzing sound of voices reached her ears. She felt stares on her, but kept her face void of emotion and didn't dare look to either side, regardless of feeling ridiculous dressed in all her finery.

When they reached the top, Hermione took note of the wide and spacious box seats when compared to the cramped aisles below. It was quieter in this section, and for that she was grateful. She spotted folded cream-colored parchment on each empty seat, and immediately found her elegantly scrawled name— _Lady Hermione Malfoy_.

She'd have been happy just to simply sneak over to her seat unnoticed, but she would not be so lucky.

"Ah, the Malfoys and the Notts have arrived," a voice, grating to her ears, said jovially.

Hermione felt chills immediately rise on her flesh as a string of obscenities, uncharacteristic of her, begged to issue from her lips. _I can't fucking do this,_ she inwardly lamented. _How can I suffer to be in his presence when he's taken everything from me? I'd sooner kill him than sit down to theater with him. This was a horrible idea and I can't do it._

As if Malfoy could sense her welling unease, his hand drew to her waist and he pulled her closer. His scent permeated her senses and a warm feeling of security washed through her. She drew strength from his nearness. Taking a deep breath, she schooled her features, willing them blank, as she looked up, doe eyed at her dreaded enemy skirted by his most trusted followers. She didn't think about the fact that it was Bellatrix Lestrange, or Thorfinn Rowle, or Doloris Umbridge standing there, sneering at her, her eyes were for Voldemort only, and they were open and honest.

Vaguely, she could hear the Malfoy patriarch making pleasantries with his beloved Dark Lord, but she could hardly make sense of the words. Invoking all the strength she could muster, she stayed calm in the face of her enemies.

"What a silly choice you've made in a wife, nephew," Bellatrix said, shaking her head in obvious disapproval. "The empty-headed little bint is better off in Azkaban."

Hermione regarded Bellatrix for the first time, taking note of her black gown and the intricate way she'd knotted her hair. Never had she seen the witch take such care in herself. She'd almost call her pretty—if she weren't mad. Even Voldemort was wearing dress robes. The vision before her seemed to belong in some horrible nightmare, yet it was most regrettably, her reality.

"Trixy," Narcissa chided.

"Auntie," Draco said smoothly. "I was instructed to choose a Mudblood. Of course I would opt for the Mudblood of all Mudbloods."

"But our enemy?" The raven-haired witch's eyebrows drew to her hairline. "An odd decision. She's caused us many grievances."

"That's why I chose her—her humiliation makes it all the sweeter."

"Yes, the Dark Lord did tell me that."

"Bella, dear Bella, we must remember our manners," Voldemort said in his gravelly voice. "Young Draco has made his choice, after all." The fearsome wizard turned his attention directly on her, and suddenly, her stomach felt like a gnawing pit. "Lady Hermione, we are so pleased to have you join our little get together. Tell me, how are you enjoying married life?"

A tendril of fear flared within her chest, and driven by cold logic, she feigned trepidation, before answering demurely. "Draco takes good care of me, my Lord." Her fingers itched for her wand; how she wouldn't love to flex her magic and duel someone, _anyone_ from the pool in front of her would suffice nicely.

She felt her scalp prickle, and only had a second to prepare for the rather abrupt onslaught of his Legilimency. His touch was light; it barely grazed her mind, and she realized he did it in such a way as to conceal from his followers what he was doing, lest it be portrayed as a weakness or even distrust in the Malfoys. She lightly brushed the fabric of Malfoy's robes, grasping for something solid to hold on to. Remembering their rather unsuccessful lesson and pushing her panic aside, she searched for something in her mind to shove at Voldemort. Something nondescript and boring. A vision of grey and blue yarn, colors reminiscent of a hippogriff. She called upon the memory, imbuing it to stay front and center of her mind. Boring and dull—that's what she needed. The whole thing lasted the span of several seconds, but it was enough to cause sweat to culminate at the back of her neck. She let out an inaudible sigh when she felt him finally retreat from her mind.

Voldemort's grin grew sadistic before he broke into an all out chuckle, followed by dark snickers from the rest of his followers.

Her sorry effort at Occlumency probably wouldn't have worked had Voldemort penetrated her mind more forcefully, free of watchful eyes, but for now it seemed to have just barely done the trick. She now knew more than ever that continuing her lessons with Malfoy would be vital to her survival.

"Very good, Draco." Voldemort nodded approvingly. "You train your wife well."

Malfoy bowed his head in supplication, a devilish smirk crossing his lips at their approval, before turning to Hermione. "Come, pet, let's take our seats. The show's about to begin."

She nodded, allowing him to lead them over to their seats. He vanished the parchment and they sat down at the very end of the first row.

She leaned over to him urgently. "Malfoy," she whispered.

His gaze scraped hers like shards of broken glass, effectively silencing her.

She blinked in confusion, before realizing he did not deem it safe to speak, even in hushed tones, with their current assembly so near.

Her eyes found the stage, and she stared straight ahead, gripping her thighs through her dress unthinkingly. She felt the fear welling up again and another threat of slipping on the horizon. Inexplicably, she yearned for Malfoy, even though he was sitting just beside her. Knowing he was there kept her grounded, and she expelled a shaky breath she did not realize she was holding. His left hand found her right hand and he slowly pried it off of her leg. She glanced over to him and saw that a muscle throbbed under his eye, a clear indication he was worried.

 _Get it together_ , she demanded of herself. Attempting to quell the emotions in her mind that were telling her to either run or fight, she rested her head back softly on the red velvet seat and looked ahead. She could now hear others talking around her, including a chat coming somewhere from behind her.

"...bad, very bad business indeed, Lord Ibori," someone was saying, Hermione recognized McNair's voice.

"It's far too large a continent to control with just one Ministry," a deep masculine voice was saying, Hermione assumed to belong to Ibori. "Though I think we are doing rather well with the limited resources we have."

"How hard can it be to track down wizards who live in trees?" McNair scoffed.

"Ask your British friends," Ibori suggested, not missing a beat. "Despite their infamous aid, we're still unsuccessful in locating the rebels."

Hermione was paying rapt attention when suddenly, the lights dimmed, cutting the conversation behind her short. Conversation died throughout the theater, and for the first time, she felt like she could breathe easier in the darkness, but that all changed once the curtain came up and the backdrop it was previously concealing came into view.

Seeing the Hogwarts castle, even a cheap imitation of it, sent an aching sadness throbbing painfully in her chest. This was her home—where she'd learned to do magic—and now it was being made a mockery of in the worse way.

She found it hard to believe it wasn't some sick joke, but in a way, it was. The battle her friends had fought and died valiantly in was being replayed for the sick entertainment of those in attendance. She felt bile rise in her throat again, and hurried to swallow it down lest she reveal herself and lose her stomach all over the prestigious guests below.

The scene opened with plans being made on both sides. The crowd cheered as the actor playing Voldemort came into view, and booed loudly when the lights panned to stage left where a ridiculous casting of Harry tried to rile the support of those barricaded inside of the castle. What she saw made her want to gag—that wasn't how it had been _at all_. She'd been there and she _knew_. The actors were playing the part of the resistance as if the resistance were a bunch of idiots, yet dangerous idiots, needing Voldemort to come save the day lest they destroy the world. A feeling of great anger welled up inside of her as she watched the exaggerated portrayal of her friends.

Her pulse throbbed as the scenes shifted, continuing to paint Harry and the noble fighters she had seen die bravely by her side as selfish and incompetent cowards. Meanwhile, Voldemort and his followers were depicted as avenging heroes, saving the school from certain ruin in the first step to taking over the world. Her anger only grew in strength, rising with the swell of the orchestra as the music moved in tandem with the action playing out on stage.

Unable to resist, she clutched onto Malfoy's sleeve. He felt tense, as if there was a direct conduit between them and her emotions directly affected his own. She could feel his muscles flex as if poised to strike, underneath her fingers. Her heart beat wildly as flashes of the real battle played across her mind. She had the sudden urge to throw caution to the wind and tell everyone what really happened.

The play spanned an hour and a half with no intermission, but the adrenaline rushing by her temples made it feel like seconds. She was sure even Voldemort, sitting several seats away from Malfoy would be able to sense the waves of righteous fury rolling off of her.

 _Get it together,_ she inwardly chanted again. _They're dead and you're still here and there's hope, but that hope vanishes if you do something foolish._ Reigning in her ire, she attempted to calm herself, knowing the play was blessedly coming to an end.

The crowd broke out into thunderous applause as the curtains fell and the actors came out to bow before their adoring patrons. Hermione moved robotically, clapping her hands, and blending in with the others.

She noticed people getting out of their seats, drifting over to where Voldemort and his first commander sat, tripping over themselves to exclaim their praise. Hermione watched it all with the keen attention of a lethal assassin. If the play had stirred up anything inside of her, it had called upon an anger that would be fearsome once she let it loose. She had no doubts she could do some serious damage if she went for Malfoy's wand.

 _But what would that accomplish?_ Her inner voice nagged. _Some quick deaths to sate your appetite for vengeance, but nothing truly beneficial to the rebels. You're married to a Slytherin, in a house full of them, adopt some of their cunning!_

Pasting on a fake smile, she followed Malfoy to the back tables where crystal glasses of champagne stood waiting.

"Are we leaving now?" she couldn't help but whisper when she was sure no one was close enough to hear.

"Soon," he murmured, neglecting to look at her as he fetched their glasses. "Etiquette dictates we'll have to mingle for a bit, but I'll Apparate us out of here as soon as I can."

She nodded stiffly, and gratefully accepted the glass he handed her.

"Draco," she said, voice bordered somewhere between calm and panic. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

She was afraid he would make light of her weakness, that he would be smug about it, but when he looked up, she only saw concern pass fleetingly over his silver gaze before recovering to their usual cool metal. "Of course," he said simply. "Don't presume I think less of you; because I don't."

She nodded, attempting to sip her Champagne instead of down it and seek another. Just one night, that was all she required. It would be okay, all things considered. She needn't feel guilty about it. Anyone in her position would likely have the same reaction—if not worse.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	6. The Dragon Reveals Himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: I don't even know with this chapter. But I should warn you, lots of new developments, things move rather quickly, and smut and cliffies abound. Erm...hope you like?**
> 
> **Beta Love to wonderful RoOjoy**
> 
> **Inspiration: French Letter by J-Walk**

 

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione paced around the room, running her fingers anxiously through now tangled knots of curls, and resisting the urge to tear her hair out. She was exhausted after the play, but now that they'd arrived back at the manor, a certain restlessness had invaded her bones and she couldn't yield to sleep as she had looked forward to doing..

"He used Legilimency on me, Malfoy," she said, feeling the panic threaten to consume her once more. "You said he wouldn't in front of his followers, but he did!"

His cool, silver gaze locked with hers, concern etched into every line of his face. "Calm down, Granger. He let us walk out of there, he acted completely normal. He must have just lightly touched your mind."

" _Just lightly_ ," she shrilled. "He _looked_! And I wasn't prepared." She halted her pacing and looked down to where he sat with wide, expressive eyes. "I don't know if I blocked him well enough or not!"

"Did you feel him shuffling through your memories?"

"No. It was just like _a presence_ , barely detectable. It felt more like a caress than an attack." Hermione ran her hands down the length of the gown she was still wearing, yearning for something solitary to grip onto.

She could have, very much, almost blew it and bought herself a one-way ticket back to Azkaban, this time, bringing others with her.

"What did you show him? What was most prevalent in your mind?" He spoke urgently with precise focus, and his tone alone helped her concentrate and stay grounded.

"Some wandwork I was doing with your mother, earlier. Just the yarn in my lap was all I was able to summon. Everything else was buzzing behind a veil in my mind, unfocused."

"If he'd have used Legilimency with the full effect of his power, you would have known," he reasoned. Then, as if a quiet afterthought, "You do realize he wants you pregnant? Not doing so only puts your life at risk."

"Malfoy!" Anger burned hot in her eyes. "We've already discussed why that _can't_ happen."

"You've been out of Azkaban two months already." His gaze traveled over her body, leaving a trail of heat wherever his eyes touched. "It seems you've made a full recovery. My mother's potions probably sped along the process, no doubt."

"I don't care," she raged. "I don't want to talk about this now. My mind has just been raped and—"

"Not raped," he said quietly, drawing up from his seat and taking an intimidating step forward. "Suppose I show you what a true Legilimency spell feels like?"

She couldn't help but take a step back. There was something about his stance that looked decidedly predatory, and the thought of him penetrating her mind sent her heart racing for all the wrong reasons. The last thing she wanted was _him teaching her_ , but after her near disasterous slip today, what choice did she have? _Stop it, you coward. It's Malfoy and I know he won't hurt me!_ Pain shot from her hands, and she looked down to see she'd balled them into fists so tight, her nails were digging into her skin. _Just don't let him see it, don't let him get any inkling that you liked it, shut that part completely down, throw something else up like you did for Voldemort._

Resolved, she looked up into piercing grey eyes. "Yes, alright." She nodded. "What choice do we have?"

He inclined his head ever so slightly, approval and respect clear in his gaze. "That's the brave and fearless lioness I remember."

His words washed over her like a sweet, yet venomous potion, drugging her, and lulling her to his will. She should be frightened over the effect he sometimes had over her, but the exhilaration that shot through her forced all other thoughts to flee from her brain.

"Do you need me to coax you through it?" he asked in a low voice, somehow huskier.

Hermione could not tear her eyes away from his if she tried. "Just do it."

His face was expressionless as he raised his hawthorn wand in the air, training it on her. Hermione suppressed the urge not to flinch, and grab for her own wand in defense. She kept her eyes open and forced her body calm, preparing for the onslaught of Malfoy's curse.

" _Legilimens_."

The dark and somehow comforting bedroom around them disappeared, and Hermione's vision instead was filled with memories.

Azkaban. Cold and alone. The other-than-emptiness floating by in droves.

 _No!_ Hermione did not wish to think about them. Her fragile mind grasped for the most solidary memory she could find, the _most soothing_.

Malfoy.

The side of his face as she rested her head against his shoulder, tracing with her eyes a path from his neck to his ear. Blond, perfectly styled hair. His hands drawing light circles along the small of her back. His lips twisted up in a derisive smirk. Eyes so stormy, she could get lost in the grey depths forever.

_And then…_

Images of him crawling over her. Scorching kisses, and intimate caresses. Twining her body with his. Submitting fully to his expert lead. Intense pleasure like she never before experienced. The dungeon. Pressed up against the wall. The cold stone clashing with the sensitive heat of her body. Malfoy, whispering and nuzzling into her neck. Her desire potent and heady. Hermione winced, willing the visions to come to a halt. Abruptly, they stopped completely and she felt his presence recede from her mind.

He hissed a warning, "Hermione!" He looked angry and slightly unhinged, and she could barely meet his gaze. "Such a sodding Gryffindor; I can flick through your memories like the pages of a book. You just need to try harder."

Without warning, he was suddenly inches from her, _far too close_. Gulping, she tilted her chin to keep her stare, even as her face burned with shame.

"Empty your head of all thoughts and just feel." His voice had taken on that raspy tone, the one that seemed to have the uncanny ability to call to her, luring her to him. "Summon strong emotions to shield the most powerful memories, and then once you have that, throw up what you will allow the caster to see, and be ready with the next and the next. Do you understand?"

She nodded tremulously whilst taking a deep breath to prepare herself for his second attack.

This time when he entered her mind, she was more used to the feeling of having another presence share her thoughts. She didn't like it, but she was sentient enough to realize he was there and make sure she stayed in control. Her brain itched to think of him, but instead, she forced her thoughts in another direction.

Large tomes and the smell of parchment. Sprawled on the soft carpet and absorbed in a book, a fire alive in the hearth. She was so focused on it, she could hold onto it steadily as she worked on remembering every detail, but then Malfoy savagely tore the memory away, in his search for another, and Hermione had to work quickly to keep up with him. She wasn't nearly as fast, and was unsure how to shut down her mind in between scene changes so he wouldn't see anything by mistake, but she did manage to dredge up memories and thrust them for him to see.

This time when he pulled from her head, she crumpled to the floor in exhaustion, content to lie down right there on the ground in his room.

She didn't stay for long though, she soon found herself in the air, strong arms pulling her to a hard and well-defined chest.

"That was good exercise for you." His voice was deep, and it rumbled through his chest as he walked them to his bed. "I think there's hope yet, you just need to practice, but you really shouldn't show him times you've felt pleasure."

"Obviously." She couldn't keep the edge of irritation from her voice.

He deposited her on the bed. "You'll have to compartmentalize; that's the trick to being a proficient Occlumens."

"Is that what you do, Draco, _compartmentalize_? I bet you're a great actor." She needed to latch onto something to forget her embarrassing lapse in control, and annoyance seemed to be failsafe.

"I do what I need to."

She hummed. "I see, ever the brave one." She stopped moving when she saw him climb into bed with her, suddenly thinking it might not be such a great idea to sleep next to the man after all, especially following tonight's events. "Perhaps we should sleep separately, Malfoy."

He gave her a look that could only be described as contemptuous. "You're one to talk of bravery. Nonsense; you'll be sleeping with me in my bed, as you will for every other night."

"I won't either," she seethed.

"Learn to choose your battles, Granger."

He was right, of course. The tiredness had crept it's way in once more and Hermione was in no mood to fight about it now. That was a battle for another day.

She curled on her side, facing away from him, and trying to get comfortable.

"Take off your gown." He issued the order as if he were used to making demands of people, and she froze in fear.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're not sleeping in _that,_ don't be silly. Take it off or I'll do it for you."

Her cheeks flamed, but she couldn't help looking over her shoulder to see if he was serious. The bored indifference on his face was nearly enough to make her scream at him, bloody Slytherins and their ability to hide their emotions. Still, she could hardly hold on to her rage so frightened was she by the prospect of what Malfoy would find in her head should he perform Legilimency on her now.

"I can get you something to wear," he offered. "A shirt of mine, if you like."

"What makes you think I'd want to wear anything of yours?" she all but snarled back at him. Gods, but she was tired. Couldn't the man just let her rest?

Mirth danced in his eyes fleetingly. "Because I saw in your mind how pleasant you find my scent."

She gasped at the intrusion. When had he found the time to search for that? "I knew you would find a way to use the Occlumency lesson against me somehow."

He shrugged flippantly. "Turn around," he demanded, "and stop acting childish."

Hermione did as she was bid, only because there was something about the way he spoke that brokered no room for argument. She felt his fingertips at the base of her cervical spine, and let out an involuntary shiver. He was careful not to touch her skin as his fingers found the halter and he untied the thin straps of material that held her dress.

"Would you like to know how pleasant I find your scent?" he whispered against her neck, somehow drawing far too close in a matter of seconds.

She jumped up quickly, sitting on her knees, in an effort to put much needed space between them. She made short work of pulling the silk gown off and throwing it noiselessly to the bedroom floor. Her body flushed red, and she mustered all the daring to stare at him in nothing but her underthings.

His eyes were dark and hooded as he met her challenging gaze—unmoving—he didn't seem to even be breathing.

Working up her nerve, she queried, "And what about you?"

His response was only to draw himself upright, unbuttoning his shirt at the collar, and pulling it over his head. Hermione tried to ignore the way his muscles rippled and flexed as he moved, especially when he bent over to tug his trousers off, now clad only in black silk boxers..

"Anymore commands, Princess?"

"Yes, actually. Turn over so I can go to sleep."

Malfoy shook his head with a wry twist of his lips. "I think not." He patted the space on the bed next to him. "You can sidle that pretty arse right over here."

Hermione hesitated briefly, wondering at Malfoy's change in demeanor, but really what was the sense in denying him? He'd already seen into her mind, he knew she found his touch comforting, _among other things_. She climbed over to where he had indicated, and laid herself delicately down, pulling the sheets as high as she could with Malfoy sitting on them, and rolling to her side, careful not to touch him.

That plan soon went awry when he pulled her firmly to his chest, melding her completely against him.

"Malfoy—"

"Hush, Hermione."

There was her name again, eliciting shivers down her spine.

"You need to rest." His fingers carded through her hair, loosening the updo, and her head fell back into his treacherous touch. "I'll let you rest." He sounded like he was arguing with someone, himself perhaps, but Hermione could not expound on it further, becoming lost under his skillful hands as they massaged her head and neck. " _Nox_ ," he whispered into the night.

Within minutes, the tiredness she'd kept at bay for so long kicked in and sleep finally caught up with her.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Draco felt _good_.

Better than good. He was surrounded by soft, pliant warmth. The scent of rosewater and something intrinsically Hermione invaded his nostrils. He heard a sound, a low moan, that sent a stab of desire straight to his cock.

His eyes flew open.

She brushed against him. Once. Twice. He was frozen somewhere between frenzied need and wild panic.

The sky was slightly lighter outside, and he realized it was very early in the morning. Bracing himself on his elbows, he could just make out the lines of her face, and see that she was sleeping. That was good—she needed rest—but he _needed her_. _Circe's tit_ , he needed her badly. She consumed his every thought. His desire had evolved way past want and transformed to something unhinged and desperate.

Carefully, lest he wake her, he gently placed his left hand over her hip, whilst tangling his right hand in her hair, squeezing his eyes shut at the feel of the soft luxurious curls under his fingertips. He flexed his fingers over the curve of her arse, carefully letting it wander over her knickers and to the golden skin of her waist. Fuck, but she was divine. Her skin was flawless and her soft curves were a thing of beauty.

He'd awoken from a dreamless sleep, the best few hours he'd got in a while, and he probably could have closed his eyes and drifted off, if it weren't for the way his body had awakened, every sense now alive and invigorated, and attuned to her every moment.

_Hermione, you're killing me._

She moved against him again, languidly stretching her arm above her head as she turned to her back, as if she were having a delicious dream. Draco screwed his eyes against his desire, and with immense effort, pulled himself away from her, hissing as the cold air replaced the heat of her body.

A small frown appeared on her forehead, as she squirmed and searched for the heat of his touch. _Fuck._ Didn't she understand what would happen if he allowed himself to keep touching her? He didn't have the discipline; he wasn't a statue. He'd gone a full week without her, and his body craved hers like it craved oxygen. It was fucking torture.

"Draco," she called in a breathy voice, and for one wild moment, he thought she may have woken up, but her eyes were still shut and her breath came out steady.

He was back down next to her in seconds, helpless to ignore her call, especially when she spoke his given name. "I'm here, lovely."

His fingers ghosted over the smooth flesh of her stomach and he itched to let his hands roam over her body ravenously.

"Mmm," she sighed, unconsciously arching her chest in the air.

"Fuck, so beautiful," he murmured. Then as if possessed, he ducked his head down to her neck, letting his breath out over her skin as he whispered urgently. "Always teasing." The hand hovering over her abdomen set down firmly. "Seems it's impossible to restrain myself around you even now."

Her eyelashes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy, and he froze with the realization that she'd awoke. She peered up at him, a small smile on her face. He didn't stop to expound on why he was acting so brazenly, or how she would most assuredly be angry with him later; for once he wanted to give in, consequences be damned. Her eyes were pools of liquid amber, and his gaze locked with hers. He let his hand wander to her chest, kneading and caressing her breasts over the material of the bra. She stretched into his touch, a whimper escaping from her throat.

"Keep making those sounds, and I'll fuck you right into this mattress," he threatened, his voice taut with lust.

Her response was a moan full of raw need that called to his own desire. When she arched again, her bra scraped along her chest, drooping, and revealing more of the creamy expanse of her breasts to his hungry gaze.

"You want me to, then." He leaned down, yanking the material away, and replacing his hands with his mouth. Now free, he let his hands drag down her body. "Tell me to stop," he demanded. "Tell me I'm just a monster and a Death Eater and you want me out of your bed."

"Draco," she called throatily. " _Please._ "

His fingers found the lace of her knickers, and she nearly bucked off of the bed when he caressed her over the material. His heart raced and blood thundered at his temples. _I need to be inside of her_. The part of him that was throbbing with need inadvertently brushed up against her leg, causing him to choke out a sound of longing.

With single minded purpose, he pulled off her knickers, nudging her silken folds with a slow gliding motion of his fingers, parting her to his explorations. He hardened to steel as sounds continued to issue from her lips.

"You're killing me," he muttered incoherently.

He pressed his right hand to her breast, and leaned down to suckle her neck, kissing and nuzzling it hotly. She keened on an upward twist of his fingers.

"I know, Hermione." It felt so freeing to say her name, not Jean, not Granger, but _Hermione_.

His lips clashed with hers hot and demanding, and around a moan, he moved his hand from her chest and shoved it into her hair. His tongue slipped against hers as he explored her exquisite flavor. His adrenaline pumped as if readying himself for a fight.

" _Draco_."

"I know."

Her orgasm was building judging by the pulsating around his fingers. His arousal jerked which drove him to push her legs further apart.. He retreated his fingers from her heat, despite her protests, and gripped himself in hand, unable to deny himself any longer. With a growl, he drove himself powerfully inside of her, seating himself to the hilt, _finally_.

The pressure in his loins built, begging for release, but before he lost his mind and pounded away like a mad man, he had to ensure her pleasure. He looked down at her intensely, marveling at the way she was so naturally sexy, without even trying. Her hair was spread out around her head and her features were twisted in pleasure.

With staunch determination, he pulled her leg around his hips, drawing a moan of approval at the shift in angles. He was able to grind more deeply inside of her, to his delight and to hers.

He wasn't going to last, he'd deprived himself of her touch for too long. Gripping her hip with one hand, he dropped his hand down her thigh, slipping his fingers between her legs to circle her sensitive flesh. She pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts, the sound of pounding skin against skin piercing the silence of the room.

"Clever girl," he praised. "I need you to come for me...do it now."

Her eyes screwed shut and shots of pleasure shuddered through him when he felt her quivering heat pulsate and squeeze around him. He let loose, snapping his hips in a frenzy until burning pleasure coursed through him and he threw his head back as pure bliss washed over him.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione sat with her legs crossed at breakfast, absently nibbling at a biscuit to busy herself with something. Anytime she looked Malfoy's way, or _Draco_ as she had called him that morning, her cheeks instantly flamed magenta. For his part, he was doing perfectly well hiding his emotions, features inscrutable. _Ever the compartmentalizing Slytherin._

"The show was riveting, was it not?" Lucius asked, flipping a page of the Daily Prophet.

Hermione did not see the point of the elder Malfoy's reading choice, it was clear to her The Prophet was nothing more than Death Eater propaganda, anyway.

"Quite, dear," Narcissa answered. "I'm glad you secured us box seats—seemed all of Britain turned out for the show."

"Yes, it was crowded." Lucius turned his gaze on Draco. "What did you think, Son?"

"Hmm?" he queried, obviously not having tuned into his parents conversation.

"The play," Lucius prompted.

"Yes, entertaining, very."

Hermione wished she could slam down her glass and flee the room. Nothing mattered except learning Occlumency and joining with whatever ragtag group of rebels existed. She felt a pang in her chest at the realization that when she would be reunited with the light, the people would all be foreign to her, what with the Order completely eviscerated. Still, whoever they were, she would work with them, learn their language if she didn't know it already, and she would die fighting for the _right side_ , as she was meant to. No more _playing house_ ,

Hermione wasn't sure what this thing she had with Draco was, but one thing was certain, _it was dangerous_. She could almost be content...she could almost enjoy herself...forget about her mission to connect with the resistance and live the life as the docile housewife—probably what he secretly wished for in the first place. She was broken and fragile, but with him she felt whole.

There was no question his presence comforted her. The closer she got to him, the more the rest of the world seemed to fade away. He knew just what to say to her and just how to _take her_ , but could she trust him explicitly? He still had done nothing to prove the truth behind his words. How was she to know if he was merely keeping her occupied, a tame little-sex-slave who he would ensure wouldn't be causing any problems for the new Death Eater regime? He'd spoken many things, he'd talked her down off ledges, he gave and took pleasure, but what incontrovertible proof did she have that he had her best interests at heart?

Nothing but his word— _the word of a snake_.

"Draco, are you ready?"

Hermione was jolted from her thoughts by Lucius' inquiry.

"Yes, Father," Draco replied, straightening from his seat, and walking towards Hermione. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. "See you tonight, Jean."

Hermione averted her eyes and nodded stiffly, hating the way her heart wrenched in her chest when she watched him and his Father step one by one into the Floo, out of the corner of her eye.

"Don't worry, Jean," Narcissa said soothingly, after the green embers from the flames had dissipated. "They'll be back soon. Meanwhile, there's much we can do."

Hermione knew Narcissa's smile was meant to be reassuring, but the only thing she longed for was solace at the moment.

"Perhaps I can read in the library for a while? There was a Charms book I had started I'd very much like to get back to." Hermione hoped her voice came out respectful and unsuspecting.

Narcissa smiled warmly. "Of course, dear. Which reminds me, we haven't performed the diagnostic spell in over a week." She reached for her black wand with the elegant silver handle. "This will only take a moment."

"Diagnostic spell?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Yes, now hold still."

The witch took a step back and trained her wand on Hermione. She didn't even hear the spell that Narcissa uttered, she only saw the white light spout from the tip and careen straight to her abdomen. She suppressed the urge to flinch, and watched, stock still, as the white light seemed to course through her whole torso, before finally retreating, this time leaving in a shade of rose pink.

Narcissa's eyes widened fractionally as she looked up and beamed at Hermione.

"Jean, that's wonderful!"

Hermione stopped breathing. "What's wonderful, Narcissa?"

"You're going to be a mother, already a little bit along, isn't it glorious?"

Black spots assaulted her vision, and she felt suddenly like she was free falling. The older witch's words pounded through her head, reverberating through her mind. They were impossible. _It couldn't be_. She couldn't be so reckless. "Narcissa," she warned. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Mimsy," Narcissa snapped sharply.

The house elf appeared immediately.

"Bring Jean to her chambers."

Mimsy grabbed a hold of Hermione's hand and Apparated them both to the Blue Room. The elf rushed about the room, helping Hermione into her bed and elevating her feet all before Narcissa made it up the stairs.

Hermione tuned it all out. The all-encompassing blackness was there, _right there_ , at the recesses of her mind, and she was slipping…

Slipping…

Slipping back into it.

"I need Draco," she said shrilly.

"He'll be home soon, darling," Narcissa said reassuringly.

But did she really need him? Is this not the action—the proof that she'd needed? Yes, he had broken her out of Azkaban, instead of letting her rot in there, he'd even nursed her back to health, but was it to fulfill his own ulterior motives the whole time? _The wedding was bound in the ancient Pureblood ways, complete with fertility spells, it likely could have occurred anytime last week._ The thoughts did nothing to reassure her.

Her brain was spinning and it was becoming difficult to hold onto conscious thought, but she felt the harsh sting of betrayal more prevalent than any other feeling swirling in her head. _He knew my feelings, he knew I didn't want the risk, yet here I am…facing the horrifying fact that I'll be bringing a child into this dark and evil world._

Instead of frightening her, the darkness was looking rather comforting. Safe and full of nothingness. The darkness never lied to her. It never used her. It was what it was, and that in itself was a small comfort in a world full of deceit. Who cared about rebels? Resistance movements? Who cared about any of it? None of it mattered, it was nothing but lies to use against her, to keep her in line. Nothing was real. She was there for the purpose to bend to the will of others, and that was all. And really, why should she stay around for that? Checking out was so much easier…

**~oOo*oOo~**

"Hermione!"

He shook her roughly by the shoulders, but the witch simply ignored him. Draco dragged his fingers through his hair, pacing around the room.

Bloody hell. He was losing her, and he needed to do something drastic to get her back. He couldn't have her become that shell of herself again. _Never again_. He whipped his wand from his coat pocket.

"What's wrong, Draco?" she asked in a monotone voice.

He eyed her warily, searching for the girl he knew anywhere in her blank features. "I was trying to get your attention, didn't you hear me? Do you know who you are?"

"Of course I know who I am." She folded her hands over her lap robotically. "I'm Hermione Malfoy nee Granger, but I go by the cover of Jean, and I'm pregnant."

"And aren't you going to react to _any_ of that?"

"React?" She furrowed her brows. "What kind of reaction would you like from me?"

"Anything, at this point."

She twisted her shoulders flippantly. "I'm not sure I care."

His stomach clenched in nausiousness. "You don't care?"

She shook her head.

"And what of the rebellion? Do you care about that?"

"The rebellion?" She laughed and the sound was grating to his ears, lacking in sincerity. "What rebellion, Draco?"

She didn't wait for an answer, instead resting her head back onto the cushioned seat in his room, staring off through the window and into the starry night sky.

He cursed, before cutting his wand through the air. The dim room was purged by a bright, white light, the form of his corporal Patronus coming into view. He stared with icy grey clarity at the wispy, white dragon.

" _I need the cloak, it's urgent_ ," he recited the message to the magical creature before sending it off into the night.

Hermione watched the rapid exchange with a frown on her face. "Did you cast a Patronus, Malfoy?"

"So now it's Malfoy again?" He was slightly relieved she had asked him a question, like the normal Granger would, but there was still a listless edge to her voice he did not care for. "Yes I did. Fuck if I'm not acting like a bawdy lion, but if this doesn't bring you back to your senses, I'm not sure anything will."

"You're not making any sense," she informed him rather calmly.

His face warred with desperation and sincerity. "Tomorrow, you'll see that I'm not making it up. I just need you to hold on until then."

"Are we going on holiday, Malfoy, traveling south, perhaps?" Doubt laced with scorn clouded her features, but he would take that over the prior impassiveness.

"You mock now, but you'll soon see."

**~oOo*oOo~**


	7. Hope Renewed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone! Happy to bring you another update. By the way, something really cool happened! This story was nominated for Best WIP in the #IsItHotInHere Dramione Forum Awards, and it won runner-up in the category, next to Squirm by MrBenzedrine, which I've just started and let me just say-ah-mazing! Thanks to those that nominated and voted C: I'm really excited to see what you guys think of this chapter. Happy reading!
> 
> Beta Love to LeanaM and RoOjoy : *

**~oOo*oOo~**

The Floo lit up Avada green before his godfather stepped out of the flames, sporting his permanent sneer. Draco felt sweet relief flood through him upon seeing one of the few people that held the privilege of his explicit trust.

He'd been pacing non-stop around his room, wondering how long it would take for Severus to arrive. Would he be delayed at Hogwarts? It wouldn't surprise Draco in the least if Severus' movements were being watched—the Dark Lord was _nothing_ if not paranoid. The thought had briefly flitted across his brain. Voldemort's suspicious tendencies kept Draco awake many sleepless nights. The idea of him having to wait a few hours, or even _a day_ was far too unacceptable to consider.

Turns out it had only been two hours.

Draco rushed up to his godfather upon his arrival. "Finally." As unappreciative as he sounded, he was really quite grateful Severus had come to him at such a late hour, and so quickly. "I'm not sure what to do about her, I think I'm losing her."

Severus raised his brows in an expression that could only be described as doubtful, before looking at Hermione, who still sat in the same chair, but was now busying herself with wandwork.

"Professor," she lifted her eyes, strangely empty, to meet his. "He is being dramatic, isn't he?"

Draco glanced at Snape with something akin to pleading in his gaze. "Do you see what I'm dealing with? She's regressing again. She can't take the shock of the...of the..."

"Pregnancy," she supplied helpfully, incessantly focusing on the weaving in her lap she'd insisted on busying herself with.

"It would seem Mrs. Malfoy is perfectly fine, Draco," Severus informed him coolly. "It's clear in her recollection of me. I don't see the reason for your panicked message, or for your reckless request."

Draco clenched his jaw, and a muscle throbbed by his eye. "You don't understand, she isn't always this... _distant._ "

"Or perhaps she is simply angry with you." Severus stepped further into Draco's room, his cloak rippling behind him as he went. "Is that the reason for your sudden coolness, Mrs. Malfoy, trouble in paradise?"

"Yes, because I'm clearly living in paradise," she spat cruelly, and Draco's heart stuttered in his chest, pleased that Severus was even able to elicit _that response_ from her. "Surrounded by Death Eaters and murdering _traitors_."

Draco was equal parts relieved and bothered by her declaration. He'd made so much progress, gone to such lengths to get her to believe he was not the enemy! And just like that, her guards were back up and effectively blocking him. But at the very least, she was not displaying Jean-like behavior just now. Severus _had_ provoked a reaction, which meant that as much as Hermione would have liked him to think she didn't care, she was merely _trying not to care_ , trying to turn it _off,_ but Draco knew one sure-fire way to get her to care, and to keep caring.

She just needed _hope_.

"As charming as ever, I see," Severus said, his voice barely raised from its usual calm. Then he turned to face his godson. "I still don't see why I've been called to mediate your marriage troubles."

Scorn and distaste flooded her features.

"You've been a _great deal_ of help." Draco was sure to inject sarcasm in his tone. "Can you at least give me the cloak?"

Severus was silent for a moment as he appraised the two. "I highly advise against such recklessness. Has she even learned Occlumency?"

Draco swallowed thickly. "She's passable."

"Let's hope her Occlumency is better than the lie you just spouted. Suppose I confirm the claim for myself?"

Hermione did not make any move to show she heard what was being said regarding her, nor did she pay any mind to the potential threat of Legilimency, instead she focused on the busywork in her lap as if she were alone in the room and they were merely part of the garish furniture. Draco again had the feeling she _wasn't right_ , and he needed to fix her. She no longer trusted him, but he'd be damned if he sat idly by, not trying to change her opinion.

"I'd rather you not," Draco said firmly, going as far as taking a step in front of Severus to block an unconcerned Hermione from his view. "Look," he sighed, "we've been _working on it,_ and the Dark Lord himself did graze her mind briefly at the Theater. She managed to conjure suitable memories for him. Yes, it's true that a skilled Occlumens can tear through her shield easily if they put the effort into it, but she's _getting better_ , and she'd have the motivation to get better still if you'd simply _give me the cloak._ "

"It appears marriage to a former Gryffindor has addled your brain," Severus informed him in a bored drawl. "You're prone to the same rashness Lions are usually known for. Where is your cunning?"

"Would you please refrain from bringing house rivalries into this?" he inquired, his throat feeling raw from all the arguing. "Just give me the cloak. I will be careful and see that she learns Occlumency."

"That isn't enough assurance for me. The situation is highly delicate."

Severus was usually the person Draco could go to in times of need, _he trusted him implicitly,_ but he was being uncharacteristically obtuse at the moment. "What more do you require?" Draco gritted out.

Severus stood motionless, his dark eyes boring into Draco's intently. He knew the stance well; it meant his godfather was deeply contemplating something. "Should her performance not be up to par in three days, should she make a spectacle of herself at the Ministry, should anything Mrs. Malfoy does endanger our mission in any way, I want you to Obliviate her."

His blood chilled to ice, and fear clawed to the surface at the realization of how serious his mentor was. Should he risk it? He was highly skilled in memory charms, he could easily erase the exact memories with precision, but he couldn't help but feel such an intrusive act would be the worst sort of betrayal to her, especially given the fact she was now _carrying his child_ and she hardly trusted him at all.

"The two of you are putting on quite the act tonight, aren't you?" She didn't even look up. Her acerbic tone made his stomach clench with nausea.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll do anything to protect the mission." _This better not come back to bite him later._

"Take a wizard's vow."

Damn, the man was persistent.

Fist tightly enclosed around the handle of his wand, he lifted it in the air. "I solemnly swear on my magic to protect the mission at all costs, and to Obliviate Hermione, my wife, should things go badly."

Pale yellow magic flitted out from the Hawthorne wood and wrapped around the wrist of his wand hand. _Easily breakable,_ he thought. _It would only burn a bit._ He flinched at the truth of Severus' words; he was acting just like a barmy Gryffindor.

"Are you happy now?"

Severus withdrew a silvery, shimmering cloak that had previously been concealed somewhere in his robes. "Don't make me regret this." He handed him the Vanishing Cloak and then stepped into the Floo, not bothering with goodbyes.

Hermione watched the exchange with mild interest. "And just what exactly will you be doing with that?" Her eyes focused pointedly to the cloak.

He walked over to her with determined strides. "I'm going to put it on you and then we're going to the Ministry."

" _Now?_ At half past midnight?" She looked at him as if he'd gone mad and it somehow reminded him of the Hermione who cared about things, _who cared about him_. "Am I not bound from such places by the Malfoy wards? And what if you're seen after hours?"

"The Ministry is always open." He grabbed her hand and was surprised when she allowed him to tug her towards the Floo. "And as for the wards," a wry smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, "just like with the theater, so long as I guide you out, you're free to go anywhere."

Hermione looked up at him apathetically. "I think you're being quite rash." But she didn't try to wrench her arm away. "Whatever your diabolical plan is, it's not going to work."

"We'll see about that." He slid his wand out from the dragonhide holster by his side. "There's one thing about this little field trip. I'm sorry but you aren't going to like it."

"And what might that—."

" _Imperio._ " He held the wand trained straight at her face, watching the yellow-green light as it penetrated her forehead. Her eyes immediately glazed over before her shoulders fell slack. Quickly, he threw the cloak over her compliant figure and directed her into the oversized Floo. "I did make a promise, and if things go badly, I don't wholly intend on keeping it, but I still would like to ensure no spectacle is made on the way there, and that you won't run off." He stepped beside where he knew she stood and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "Department of Magical Affairs, my office."

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione could have fought it if she wanted to.

But why would she want to?

There was a calm voice in her head, a lovely voice, and it was kindly guiding her. She didn't need to worry about the fact that she had no idea where she was headed, because the voice knew _everything._ It clearly belonged to - _no!_ \- it belonged to someone who truly cared for her welfare, who would protect her!

_This way, beautiful girl._

Hermione preened under the compliment.

She liked it when the voice said things like that. It made her feel warm inside. She watched her feet as she walked. She was wearing pale blue slippers and they didn't make a sound like her heels did. There was some kind of shimmering veil around her legs - well, actually - it was around her entire body. Was it a shield of some kind?

Curious, she glanced to her left, and instantly recoiled from the action. For the briefest of seconds, anger flared alive in her chest.

She saw people being dragged away, they were screaming, some crying! She was stricken with the need to help them. This place was scary. The walls with their colorful bricks in many hues of green were intimidating. Even the black floor was unfriendly. Floos lit up on either side of her, glowing green like all the worst curses. She let out an inaudible gasp.

_No, lovely girl, do not stop, do not speak. Look nowhere but straight ahead at all times. Follow me and I won't lead you astray._

The voice knew what was best for her, of course, and her rapidly fluttering heart immediately calmed.

Submitting to the command made her feel... _pleasant._ Better than pleasant, rapturous even. Besides, the figure that walked ahead of her was nice to look at. He was tall. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, accentuating a fit and chiseled body. His hair was light, blond, and she liked the color. It made her feel tranquil, somehow.

She wished she knew where the lovely man was leading her.

_Just to the Ministry lifts, Hermione._

Instinctively, Hermione knew the voice in her head was the same person who walked in front of her. She liked when he said her name. It gave her delightful shivers down her spine. She complied because the voice wanted her to. She did not wish to displease the voice!

The lifts came into view and soon opened up for them. Hermione did not hesitate to step inside after the mysterious owner of the voice.

"Level eleven, Department of Security."

Oh, he spoke even lovelier aloud! His voice was melodious, and even more serene when spoken aloud. She felt lulled to a near sleepy state.

 _No sleep yet, beautiful._ Was there a chuckle present in his voice this time? If there was, it was distinctly dark. _First we have business to attend to._ She did not like the sound of this _business_ he spoke of, but then another wave of magic washed over her and really—he could say _whatever_ he liked, she was open to any suggestion from him.

It was all wonderful.

The lift rocketed down several floors and flew forward before coming to a screeching halt. He stepped off, and she stepped off as well. This vacant hallway was even scarier than the others that had been bustling with people. Even the multi-colored bricks were gone and the walls were just... _dark._

 _It's all right, Hermione._ More shivers. _Everything will be fine, just stay close to me._

They walked for what seemed like ages. She could no longer see the lifts behind her, bathed in darkness as they were. That was okay; this was the most delightful walk she'd ever had the privilege of taking. If she were being honest with herself, she _never wanted it to end._

 _You won't be saying that in a few moments._ More chuckling. Why did he say such things? Her Voice was funny sometimes.

Her mind felt blissfully free of any and all concerns, and she found she rather loved the feeling, despite what The Voice said. The hall was so glaringly empty, it almost made her laugh—how could such a large hall remain so vacant? What a strange place they were in! She tiptoed down the corridor, a smirk pulling on her lips as she continued to play the fun game. It was nice to simply obey.

Simple.

She almost laughed again when her prior thought proved utterly wrong. There was a man, afterall, on the vacant hallway. A guard of some sort. She stayed quiet because she knew it pleased The Voice when she listened, hidden underneath the light cloak, but she _could have_ spoke if she really wanted to. Inexplicably, excitement flared hot and alive in her chest. This seemed like it would be fun.

_Oh yes, loads of fun._

The Voice's confirmation only made her excited still.

"Lord Malfoy," the guard, a man who looked surprised to find visitors greeted The Voice. "I wasn't expecting you tonight, Sir."

"I couldn't sleep," _Malfoy_ lied flawlessly. How she knew it was a lie, she wasn't sure, but she felt oddly in tune to him. "Thought a little late night torture would cure my restlessness."

"Of course, My Lord. No one is with the filthy cockroach at the moment, he's all yours."

The man, _Malfoy,_ barely inclined his head before walking forward confidently. In the doorway, a pale, wispy light sizzled hot before glowing calmly as he passed through. Hermione was instantly fearful of passing through after him. Suppose the sizzling light wouldn't approve of her?

_It's all right. Just come through the entryway. I promise nothing will hurt you—I won't let it._

Her Voice was so perfect, he always knew the right thing to say!

Feeling more sure of herself, she traversed through the door with an unnatural assertiveness. The glowing— _wards_ , something in her mind informed her helpfully, didn't even light up as she passed through. See! Her Voice was always right.

All-knowing.

Wonderful.

The door slammed closed behind them. Her cloak was whisked off of her body.

"Finate Incantatem."

Amaz—

Wait, what?

Hot pain burned at the back of her skull and her mind wouldn't stop buzzing. She physically shook her head back and forth, trying to shake her stilted vision. What the _bloody hell_ had just happened? A frisson of white, hot panic shrilled through her when she suddenly realized what had just occurred.

She looked up at _The Voice,_ or rather _Draco-sodding-Malfoy,_ and in two steps, was close enough to wale on him. " _Bastard_ ," she snarled. "That's a new low even for you." She pushed him as hard as she could, but he barely budged. He was a lot stronger than his slender frame led her to believe. That was alright—she could simply try _harder_. "Perhaps you'd like to try for the rest of the Trifecta while you're at—you're sick."

Draco grabbed her by the wrists in an attempt to get her to stop pummeling him and hurting herself. "I'm sorry, I couldn't risk it if you slipped."

She frowned at his brisk and reproving tone, as if he'd already decided she would have errored. "What, do you think I would have proclaimed my presence for all the Ministry to know I was there?"

His silence was answer enough.

She attempted to wrench her hands away but to no avail. "I'm not suicidal, you know." She knew instantly that it was true. She was still _her,_ despite his apparent concerns. She just had wanted to switch _it off_ for a while, couldn't he have allowed her that, at the very least? Especially if he supposedly cared. "I'm carrying our child, for Merlin's sake."

"I know, I just had to be sure."

This time, he let her drop her hands, and she didn't try to hit him again. What was the point? Her mind still buzzed distractedly, and she badly wished for a Calming Draught. "I would have come willingly," she couldn't help but add.

"If you're through." He made to grab her by the waist, but she lurched away from him.

"If I'm through _what,_ " she snapped, for the first time glancing around the dark room, illuminated only by a blue flame of some kind hanging on the wall. They appeared to be in the most narrow part of the room, and she saw that the wall curved into what was perhaps a larger area. "What are we even doing here, at the Ministry of all places?" She didn't wait for him to reply. "For once I'm inclined to agree with Snape—you're the one that's gone mad."

"Hermione?"

For one wild moment, her heart stopped, she was _sure_ it must have at the sound of _that_ voice.

With wild eyes, she sought Draco's gaze to see if there was _any_ truth to what her knackered mind was telling her.

_Oh dear._

Steel grey eyes had hardened considerably, resigned and aware, like always.

_Dear Merlin._

"Harry?" Jerking in surprise, she whirled away from Draco and rounded the corner so fast, she was sure she hadn't even given her feet permission to move.

This room was bigger, but only just. It was made to look like a dungeon. The only light present was thanks to the sconce flickering dimly from where she just came.

But it was enough to _see._

Enough to make out electrifying green eyes that could only belong to one individual.

Shock exploded across her face and her lips parted in astonishment as she fell to her knees next to the chained and desolate figure.

" _Harry_?" she asked again, her heart thudding in her chest as she reached tentative fingers towards him. A gasp of sheer surprise tumbled from her lips. It was the sound of someone who'd just discovered her _best friend_ , humanity's one and only hope, _was still alive_. A cry of relief tore through her and she was distantly aware she should probably _not be_ sobbing so loud, but Malfoy did not try to stop her, so she could only guess the room was soundproof.

"I can't believe you're really here." He hardly sounded like himself, his voice was somehow hoarse and grating, it was a wonder she'd even recognized it at all.

He was chained like an animal, and as filthy as an one. His hair was long and matted to his head, and it hung to his shoulders. His features were gaunt, but his eyes were not dull like she would expect, they sparkled with an intensity she was sure matched her own. She hauled herself up quickly, and grabbed him fiercely, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his grimy hair, allowing her tears to run freely.

She'd been so _tired._

So hopeless!

She was so unsure of what else she could do in this dark world that always seemed to have a different type of horror awaiting her around every corner. The world _wanted_ her to give up, and she was inclined to finally yield. Hadn't she endured enough for one lifetime? Hope was lost! There was nothing left to hold onto. She couldn't protect herself, how was she ever to protect _a child_?

But it _wasn't_ lost.

In just two minutes, her life had been switched upside down once again.

When she pulled back to meet his gaze, she saw a flicker of life in the green depths she so adored - that didn't seem possible. How had he not gone mad? Pain and relief flooded her, and she felt divided by the impossibility of it.

"Harry, is it really you?" Her heart told her it was, but her mind said it couldn't be.

"It's me, Hermione."

She sank her teeth into her lips, but she had to be _sure_. "What song did we dance to, that day in the woods, when we were in the tent?"

"Abattoir Blues, I haven't forgotten. You were wearing my shirt, it was plaid. I think of that day _very_ often."

It really was him.

He'd been here all this time.

Her best friend in the world she'd long believed to be dead, that she'd _seen die_ with her very eyes, was alive, and she wasn't alone. She reached for a wand that wasn't there, and cried in dismay when she saw the bangles that cut into the skin of his wrist. She wanted to vanish them!

"Draco, your wand."

Harry had been suffering horribly while she'd been living in comparable luxury. Now what Snape said started to make sense, and she instantly knew what her former professor had meant by it.

"Hermione," Draco said softly from somewhere behind them. "You can't move him, you can't heal him—."

"Don't try to stop me," she cried.

"You can't, Hermione," Harry said, pulling away to look at her directly. "He can't either."

"I thought it best if you saw him." Draco's voice was closer now. "I thought you might begin to understand what's at stake. I'd hoped it would _help you,_ to see him, to know he was alive.

Sweet Morgana, Draco _was right._ Awareness burst in her chest. Her behavior had been atrocious. What she'd put him through...this _had_ to signify he meant her well. That he would take such a risk...it had to mean he was on their side. But she couldn't expound on that _now,_ because _Harry..._

" _I don't understand_. I watched you die. I watched You-Know-Who's Avada hit you in the chest!"

"You were there, Hermione?"Concern was etched onto every line of his face, concern for _her._

How _wrong_.

"Of course I was there." Leave him in his hour of need? She curled her lip at the absurdity of it. "I followed you in the woods. I watched you use the Stone, then go to where they were gathered. I hid behind a tree."

"You shouldn't have." For a brief moment he looked truly angry, upset that she'd even _dared_. "I told you to stay behind. It was my battle. You and Ron—."

"What does it matter?" She shifted on her slippers, looking at him searchingly. "With you, or at the school, there was no chance for escape. When the green light flashed, I ran up to you, I fell by your side. They all stood there laughing. You-Know-Who loudest of all. 'Look at Potter's Mudblood.' They pointed and danced around me like it was some kind of show. It all happened so quickly. I don't even remember being dragged to Azkaban."

"I'm sorry Hermione." She was trapped in his earnest stare. "I never wanted anything bad to happen to you, or to anyone."

"Please," she scoffed, unable to keep the self-hatred from her voice. "I've been living like a bloody queen, while you've been here all this time."

"It's not so bad." A smile tugged at the corners of his lips and she marveled at how easily he seemed to be taking it. "Malfoy and Snape visit often enough. Sometimes they sneak me food, but not too much."

Hermione swallowed thickly, feeling even more sickened by his words.

"I'm glad Malfoy's been taking care of you. I told him he better. I'm happy you're alive Hermione, I'm glad you're well."

She gulped once more, feeling renewed tears threaten to spill over her cheeks.

"You are well, aren't you?"

Her expression tightened as she struggled for control. "Yes, I'm well," she choked out, nauseous at the thought of him being so concerned for her well-being. "But it's you I'm worried about."

"Don't worry about me. Snape and Malfoy have been helping me. They're going to find a way to get me out of here. And now that you're with us, I know these wards don't stand a chance."

Willing herself calm, she quelled her tumultuous emotions, wanting nothing but to provide him assurance. "I'll help. We'll find a way." _Bugger it._ Choking in a breath, she found she couldn't keep the tears of happiness at bay, and let them rush down her face once more. "Oh, Harry, I never thought for a moment..." _Had I known, I never would have lost sight._

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry assured her, and she awkwardly embraced him once more. She'd be content _to never let him go_. "You've been so strong. You're the most brilliant witch I know. So long as you're fighting, I know there's a chance."

She broke away, needing to see his face again, to commit it to memory. A rush of anger swept through her, and her eyes narrowed on the thick bangles around his wrists. "I promise I'll get you out of here, _we'll get you out of here._ I'll do whatever it takes."

"Hermione." Draco's voice was further away now, and she realized he had probably stepped away to give them space, to let them have their intimate moment. "We can't stay."

She balled her hands into fists, the last thing she wanted to do was leave _him,_ but she knew Draco was right. She leaned in to hug him tighter still, speaking directly in his ear, "I love you, Harry. Don't give up hope." She kissed him on the cheek, reluctant to let him go.

She finally forced her hands by her sides, and hovered stiffly, before getting up on shaky feet.

Draco was by her side in an instant, and this time, she didn't refuse his help when he offered his arm.

"Goodbye, Hermione. Be careful."

Her heart broke as she stepped away from him. Breathing shallowly, she struggled to move, as if her bones had turned to lead. She choked in a breath but was unable to say anything more, lest she refuse to leave. But things were different now, _worlds different,_ now she had hope, and she wouldn't lose sight of that again.

They rounded the corner, leaving Harry alone in the darkness.

"Draco," she ventured tremulously.

He kept his eyes trained ahead, features tensed and ready for action, but she knew she had his attention.

"I'll find a way...I'll _help you..._ I'll learn Occlumency— _whatever_ I need to do." She shook her head, placing her hand on his bare forearm. "Draco, I'm _sorry_ for doubting you, for making things harder, making things miserable!"

"You're not going to slip again," he asked stiffly.

Drawing on her courage to speak clearly, she shook her head again. "No, I won't— _I promise._ No more checking out. Just please forgive me. My reactions were horrendous, but I had no idea...I want to help."

"We have a library full of every sort of Dark book, tome, or scroll," he drawled loftily. "I can show you what I've come up with so far, I could use your help, it was only the Occlumency that stopped me."

"I know." She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. "And I'll do it, _whatever it takes._ "

She took the cloak as he handed it to her.

She meant the oath with every fiber of her being.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	8. Calculations

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione's eyes were glued to the flames in the hearth as they danced and crackled, illuminating the large sleeping chamber with a soft orange glow. The fire was oddly entrancing and gave her something to focus on. Distantly, she heard Draco moving about in the room, pouring his usual evening glass of Odin's Reserve.

She had so many questions for him.

All this time there was so much she'd been unaware of. It was almost too heartbreaking, the fact that she'd been so ignorant. She'd been close to giving up whilst others had continued the fight. The shame could come another day. Currently the best use of her time was to focus on how she could assist the cause—now that she knew beyond a doubt that a cause still existed.

She curled her knees up to her chest, stretching the soft fabric of her nightgown, and watched as Draco climbed into their bed. She was struck by how tired he looked; concern was etched into every line of his face. Her heart went out to him—how lonely it must have been to have taken the majority of the strain onto himself. Yes, some of his tactics were a bit invasive, namely the fact that he'd Imperiused her, but the anger she felt over that paled in comparison to the sympathy welling in her heart. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine Draco would be so selfless, that he could keep so great a secret, and go at it virtually alone. She found herself wishing she could ease his apprehension and at least take some of the responsibility off of him.

"I'm sorry." The apology tumbled from her lips. "That you carried such a burden, and meanwhile I've been acting like a child."

"You don't need to apologize for anything," he said stiffly as he raised the coverlet. "You obviously had your own traumas to deal with. I'm surprised you're not angry I didn't get you, _or Potter_ , out sooner."

Her eyebrows rose at the clear trace of bitterness she detected. Did he really think she would be so ungrateful? In fairness, she had been acting like a spoiled child ever since coming back to herself, but she hoped he didn't think she took anything he'd done for granted. "Not _at all_ ," she stressed. "You did the impossible." It was true, he _had_ to see that. It was nothing short of a miracle. "I'm not even sure how you've been doing it."

He finally decided to focus his stormy grey eyes on her. "I'm a compartmentalizing Slytherin, remember? It's almost been easy."

She sighed, puzzling over why he was being so guarded with her. Must he raise barriers between them when she'd finally lowered hers? What could she say to get him to act normal, to forgive her, even? Her mind drew a blank, she could only think about the countless questions she still wanted to ask.

Gripping the sheets, she focused on the luxuriant fabric underneath her fingertips and willed her eyes not to look at him, afraid of what she might see lurking in those silver depths. "I saw him die— _I was there._ "

Draco squeezed his eyes shut like he was trying to stave off a headache before softly responding, "I know you were there, I saw you carted off."

"So then how…?"

"He had a horcrux inside of him. All the Dark Lord succeeded in doing was killing that part of his soul."

Understanding flooded through her. _Ah, so it all makes sense._ She had wondered about the complexity that was Harry and Voldemort's connection in the privacy of her own mind. She had tried not to think about it, but the idea that there was more to it than they thought constantly nagged at her brain, neglecting to leave her alone. _One cannot live while the other survives._ The clues were all there, she just didn't want to see it, didn't want to accept the horror of it.

"Did you know?" Draco's voice was soft and thoughtful.

She was quiet for a moment before she drew on her courage to speak clearly. "I had suspicions," she admitted. "I'd wondered if during the first Avada You-Know-Who had somehow created another horcrux and latched onto Harry, but I wasn't sure."

"You didn't want to be right."

"I didn't," she said breathlessly.

"Then why were you so sure he had died?"

"Because I saw it, that terrifying green curse sizzling through the air… I didn't think Harry could survive it a second time. I only hoped it would somehow have rebounded and killed You-Know-Who too, but it didn't." Hermione felt the irritating tears well up in her eyes again. Merlin, but she hadn't cried so hard in all her life. "That's when I lost hope."

"Yes, it was quite foolhardy of you to run from the cover of the trees and throw yourself over him like that. You would have been better off fleeing like some at the castle did. The ones who stayed out of a misguided sense of bravery did not fare well."

Hermione swallowed down bitter bile that had welled in her throat. "Yes, perhaps I should have. Maybe they were smarter, maybe they knew it was better to run and hope to fight another day."

"He awoke just after they peeled you off of him and took you away. Most of the Death Eaters had already returned to the castle and so it was my mother who discovered he was breathing. Only my aunt, my father, Severus, and Macnair were there when my mother ousted him. We were worried about how the Dark Lord would react, but he acted swiftly. He had Macnair and Severus escort him to a cell deep underground in Azkaban until he could create his own place for him."

"That's why he is at the Ministry, instead of with the others?"

"The Dark Lord wanted him close. He would often take joy in torturing him that first year. Those of that knew the truth were made to feel privileged. He granted us all access after warding him in with the tightest security measures I've ever seen. He's since grown bored of Potter and grown lax with the lack of threats to his power. He's been focused on securing the rest of the world, which has been sickeningly easy. Only small pockets of resistance remain."

"I still don't see why he didn't leave Harry in Azkaban. It's supposed to be the safest place in the world to keep prisoners locked away in." An involuntary shiver sparked down her spine at the memory of her time in that godforsaken place. "Why go through all the trouble?"

"He created the eleventh floor of the Ministry just for him. Azkaban wasn't good enough, the Dark Lord knew of too many who had escaped. Besides," his voice turned cold and detached, "he wanted Potter accessible to his closest followers. The Dark Lord likes the idea that Potter's continuous torture and defeat would be _his_ glory. He had said that death was too good for him and this was the existence he deserved, but I believe the Dark Lord was fearful of failing a third time."

Hermione shuddered at the dark words, her heart wrenching violently in her chest for Harry and all he had to endure. She briefly remembered she had completely forgotten to inform Harry of her pregnancy. What would her friend think of the news? Would he be happy or concerned? Such a time was supposed to be a joyous occasion, but surrounded by such suffocating darkness it had been difficult to find happiness. Now with her newfound hope, the future didn't seem all that bleak to bring children into. A tendril of guilt threaded through her at the realization that Harry seemed to be more concerned with her well-being than anything else. She hadn't begun to ask him everything she needed to. "Will I be permitted to see him again?"

"As often as you please; we have the Invisibility Cloak." He paused for a moment, and Hermione thought he might be dozing off but he finally spoke up again. "Potter's wards have been an issue. Zabini and I, we've made some progress, but Theo's the real Runes genius and I've not yet discerned if he could be persuaded to our side."

"Zabini is on our side, too?" The surprises just kept coming.

"Yes, but he is the French Ambassador and not readily available."

"I bet Nott could be persuaded. He does seem to care for Alice, which may be his only redeeming quality."

"I know, but as long as he can do that and be made to feel like he rules the world, I don't think he'd choose the hard path. Unless his muggle-born wife would be in danger of being removed from his side, I don't see him making the switch anytime soon."

Hermione nodded in complete agreement. For the tenth time that day, she was exceedingly grateful to have someone as brilliant as Draco on the side of the Light. How had it even happened, how could she ever have _not known_ Draco had it in him to do something so glaringly against the status quo, so contrary to what he'd been raised to believe?

"I still don't understand," she hazarded carefully. "I mean… I don't get why or how you and… Professor Snape, of all people, decided to help Harry."

She risked a glance in Malfoy's direction, eager to see his reaction, but the flames in the hearth had died to glowing embers and she could make out nothing but shadows.

**~oOo*oOo~**

It was the question he knew was coming, the one he feared the most. He wasn't surprised when it finally came, but it still made him nervous to hear it.

Not only had he come home from the Ministry to find a shell-shocked Hermione—who looked to be a cross between retreating back into her Azkaban-era self and being so livid with him she couldn't utter more than two words—but then he had to deal with Severus and have a verbal spar with him over everything and nothing. Of course, it had to be all topped off with a late night stroll back to the Ministry, this time with an Imperiused Hermione in tow.

He hadn't been sure if she was going to be angry with him, if she'd hold the Unforgivable against him _forever._ He could hardly blame her if she did, but what else was he to do? He'd been at a loss and resorted to the only thing he could think of to shake her from whatever paralyzed stupor she was in.

He had, of course, had every intention of informing her of Potter's predicament _eventually_ , but his attempts at teaching her Occlumency had been, thus far, laughable. He wasn't sure when she'd ever learn it at the rate they were going. She needed purpose and so he gave her that purpose.

Not that it had been easy to watch.

It wasn't Potter's fault that everyone melted in his arms. He was _The-Boy-Wonder,_ so of course it was to be expected, but Draco wasn't prepared for how much of an effect it would have on him. His gut had twisted viciously and words caught in his throat when he saw her falling to her knees before the chained wizard.

They were friends, he knew, and it was only natural that she should have that reaction to someone she cared deeply for, _it was what he'd hoped for,_ but had he ever been the recipient to even a quarter of such concern from her? Her eyes had immediately brimmed with tears, her whole body had reacted, words of love and devotion had fallen from her lips at a rapid rate, and Draco couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy flare hot and alive in his chest.

Merlin, but he was pathetic.

Of all the actual _and tangible_ issues they had to face, the last thing he needed to do was complicate things more. Granger was Potter's girl, he'd always known that, ever since third year. Despite the fact that the two may have never taken their relationship to a romantic place, it was clear to any bystander that there was a special spark between them.

It was something he had usually joked about to his friends, but in all honesty he was slightly envious of their relationship. He had also been perplexed about Hermione herself. She'd bested him at school, in _every subject._ He could have probably beaten her in sixth year Potions, had he not been so focused on carrying out his mission. But barring that one exception, she was _better._ Potter and Weasley had been lucky to have her on their side—she probably single-handedly kept them alive. A platonic relationship between himself and any witch was a foreign notion to him. Whenever he grew close to a witch in Slytherin House it usually resulted in fucking, yet that didn't seem to be the case for _the-wonder-trio_.

Looking back, she had probably caught his attention even earlier when she hadn't appeared to make as horrible of a witch as he had expected her to. He'd always watched her, discreetly and silently, but _always._

Whatever the infatuation had been, it wasn't enough to deter him from doing what he must to survive. He'd studied Charms tirelessly and mended the Vanishing Cabinet. He'd leveled his hawthorn wand on the greatest wizard ever born and when he'd faltered he'd heard a voice mimicking his aunt's crazed words. _Do it Draco, you will earn his trust. I give you permission._ It did not come from Bellatrix, but from Headmaster Dumbledore. He found the strength to do it then, not because Dumbledore had said it would be okay, but because he _wanted to._ Or at least that's what he'd told himself.

He hadn't been ready to evaluate his thoughts surrounding the decision then, but he would later. He would pick at them to death _later,_ and he would find he'd _always_ had it in him.

She had asked him a question.

_Oh, yes, the terrifying one._

"Is it so hard to believe?" His voice came out more hoarse than he intended. "Severus had worked with Dumbledore since the beginning."

"Yes." Wonder colored her tone, as if she was shocked he had finally answered her. "But what about you? Why would you give up everything once you were already on the winning side? What changed your mind?"

 _Ever the sharp one._ Hermione Granger never let sleeping dragons lie. A typical Gryffindor, she would pick at it until she had the answer.

He remembered when he'd first come to his life-changing realization. It was after he'd watched Hermione being dragged away and it hadn't feel like triumph welling in his heart. During one of his private Occlumency lessons with his godfather-Severus was probably the best Legilimens, second only to Voldemort-he'd dredged up a particular memory, one Draco had all but forgotten about.

" _Well, with feet that size, hard not to," he had drawled, watching as Potter, Weasley, and Granger turned sharply at the realization he was there. He was standing alone, leaning against a tree, and forcing his features to be utterly relaxed. Arms folded across his chest, he let them know he'd been watching the scene at the campsite through his body language alone._

_That was when Weasley had opened his fat mouth. "Sod off, you tosser!"_

" _Language, Weasley," Draco had reprimanded him, his grey eyes glittering with the promise of retribution. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?" He nodded at Granger, and at the same moment a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them._

" _What's that supposed to mean?" said Granger, defiance burning in her eyes._

" _Granger, they're after Muggles," said Draco as if talking to a first year. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around. . . they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."_

" _Hermione's a witch," Potter all but snarled._

" _Have it your own way, Potter," said Draco, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."_

" _You watch your mouth!" shouted Weasley at the use of the word 'Mudblood.'_

" _Never mind, Ron," said Granger quickly, seizing Weasley's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Draco. There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed. Draco only let out a forced chuckle._

" _Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to_ — _trying to rescue the Muggles?"_

" _Where're your parents?" said Potter, his temper obviously rising. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"_

_Draco turned his face to Potter, still smiling. "Well. . . if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"_

" _Oh come on," said Granger, shooting a disgusted look at Draco, "let's go and find the others."_

" _Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," he had sneered, one final warning._

Draco had broken away panting, fear shrilling through him as he had stared into the coal black eyes belonging to his godfather.

" _You care for the girl?" Severus had asked him._

" _No, I don't care about her at all."_

" _You warned her four times, seems a bit of an overkill for someone you don't care for."_

" _I was only taunting," he lied. "What do I care what happens to the Granger-swot? She's in Azkaban now, where her kind belong."_

Severus had only stared at him, and even though he wasn't using Legilimency, Draco had still felt like Severus could see right through him.

That was only the beginning, the beginning of his realization and more revelations to come.

But it was the last thing he wanted to admit to Hermione.

He'd already put so much on the line, he wanted to keep his heart at least, before she tore through that, too. "What can I say, Hermione? The whole blood purity thing lost its luster during the war." A half-truth. "I didn't like seeing the students I'd grown up with being dragged off and tortured. It didn't seem worth it anymore. Severus saw it in my mind, he saw my disgust," another half-truth, " and it took some time but eventually, we began to trust each other. He opened my eyes to what was out there. I made the decision to change my path."

He wanted to look at her, even knowing he couldn't really see her expression besides the lines of her face, but he couldn't bring himself to turn his head in her direction. He expected his statement to provoke another litany of questions, but was surprised when he heard her response.

"Oh," she said simply.

 _Oh? Was that all?_ After all he had revealed, even if he was still keeping parts of it secret, that was the only answer she could dignify him with?

He was still mulling over the oddity of it and reeling from the spectacle that had been her reunion with Potter, when he felt her lean across and softly place a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Draco." She closed the small distance and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek "Thank you for everything." She paused for a moment and he briefly wondered if she expected him to say or do something in return, but the moment passed. "Goodnight."

He felt her retreat from his personal space and was aware when she rolled to her side, pulling the coverlet up to her neck.

He wasn't surprised by her show of thankfulness—Potter was alive, the world had meaning once again.

The feel of her lips on his cheek lingered until he, too, fell asleep.

**~oOo*oOo~**

The next day found Hermione in the Malfoy library spread out over the rug that was ornately decorated in gorgeous shades of green. Lucius and Narcissa were out so she didn't have to worry about being found by them. She'd frequented the place many times since her arrival, but she had yet to truly see it as she was now.

She was surrounded by books on every wall. Every shelf was filled with literature, even all the way down to where emerald green drapes hung above glass doors and to where drawers housed ancient-looking scrolls and time-ravaged periodicals. Her fingers itched to touch them. The pleasant scent of parchment assaulted her nostrils and she wanted nothing more than to read everything the Malfoy library had to offer. Above her, the enchanted ceiling cast a lovely glow over the room and illuminated the various reading areas, particularly over a fancy table with plush chairs. Beautiful chandeliers hung on the walls in between the vertically striped wallpaper and silver crown molding. The place reminded her of a gothic cathedral she'd once seen on a trip to Rome.

"Are you sure..." Draco started and faltered.

"Am I sure of what?" she said carefully.

"I'm just not certain you're...exactly ready to thrust yourself back into work like this."

She let out an exasperated sigh.

"Merlin, Hermione, but you're only weeks out of Azkaban, have only just had your memories return to you, have found out you're pregnant, and now with the truth about Potter? Are you sure you're stable enough to be focusing on books right now?"

"Of course, I'm _sure._ I'm not fragile."

Draco rolled his eyes as if that was exactly what he thought her to be.

"Besides, I can't really waste much more time, can I? This is extremely time sensitive."

"Whatever you say," he relented.

Hermione had a feeling he was irritated with her. What, did he think she was a liability? She would show him this was her strong suit, and she could be of assistance, regardless of how angry he seemed to be that she was injecting herself into his progress.

"Come to the table," Draco bid, and she was relieved when he spread rolls of parchment over the polished wood of the table. He selected the materials from a case that looked empty, and she realized it probably had an Undetectable-Extension Charm on it, not unlike her old beaded bag. "I took a spectral trace of the door in order to show Blaise. We were able to determine the wards were not simply made of the ordinary Runic Charm. There's considerably more to them than that."

Hermione nodded, her gaze hungrily raking over pages and pages of complicated Arithmancy calculations. Upon closer inspection, she saw impossible formulas and Arithmancy-coded Runes that were almost painful to look at. Never before had she even considered placing together some of the combinations she was seeing. Were Zabini and Draco some kind of geniuses of some kind? She felt guilty for ever placing herself above them before. It was clear they were holding back considerable talent whilst in school. What was even more daunting, they were trying to unravel Voldemort's own intricately formulated wards, and she knew for a fact _he_ was a genius. Terrible, but still clever as the devil.

She took a wistful breath of the heavenly scent that filled the library and sat down in one of the chairs before responding. "Did he use the Runic Charm with another branch of magic, is that what you're determining?"

Intent, liquid silver eyes met hers. "That's what we are beginning to suspect." He indicated one parchment in particular. "Here we have assigned the most common warding Runes based on numerical value to see if anything," he gestured to a complex sketch on another parchment, "can equal to this."

"Are you using the Futhark alphabet?"

Draco released a puff of air before replying. "Yes, we assumed he would use the oldest and the best."

That made sense and was probably correct. "And are you using the Agrippan method whilst assigning values?"

He nodded.

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. The amount of work spread out before her looked like it could take months to come up with. They really were brilliant wizards. "Maybe the Chaldean method?" she suggested timidly. "It's not exactly common, but it is a possible solution."

"It's worth a try, but the amount of combinations is staggering. Redoing it all could take a while."

She hopped to her feet, tiptoeing over to where he stood, her dress swaying as she walked. "Not very long." She peered down at the formulas, impressed they had managed to balance so many on their own. "It looks like you've thought of every Runic-ward combination, perhaps trying them with this method will give us an image closer to the spectral imprint you took."

He ran a hand through his hair and briefly squeezed his eyes shut. "I hope so. It feels like we've gotten no where."

She felt a pang in her heart when she saw how exhausted Draco still appeared to be. Unlike her, he actually had to go and do a job after everything else, and appear to be bloody good at it! The amount of stress he had to be under would probably kill a lesser man. She stepped closer to him, and rested her head against his back as she wrapped her arms around his chest. "We'll figure it out, Draco, I promise we will."

He jerked in surprise, and he disentangled himself deftly before taking a few steps towards the shelves. Hermione was momentarily shocked at his reaction, and felt a twinge of hurt along with a measure of sadness well up in her chest. He was acting so distant since yesterday, and she longed for that feeling of normalcy between them that she recalled from Jean's memories— _her memories_. Something she hadn't known she'd wanted until faced with the jarring reality of his suddenly cool demeanor.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly deep in thought before taking a deep breath and returning to the task at hand. Reaching for his wand, he flourished it and a stack of books floated to where she still stood at the table. He set them down gently before explaining. "These are the most suitable books I can find to help us. Some of them are very old and have some rather morbid theories. I haven't begun to pore through them all, but along with switching up the Arithmancy method, it's possible we can find some helpful material in one of these."

She took a deep breath and worked frenetically in her mind to decide on how best to tackle the situation. She may as well start with the Runes as she could run them fairly quickly. If that failed, she would resort to the books and square one. "I'll start with the calculations." She pulled up a chair and sat rigidly in her seat as she reached for the quill before chancing a glance at him. "Do you have to go?"

"Not yet." She heard him drag the opposite chair along the marble and sit heavily down. "I can run through some of these before I'm due in a couple of hours. Do you want to split them?"

She smiled warmly, bizarrely glad to hog his company at least for a little while longer. "I'll take these pages." She shuffled the papers and purposefully gave herself more of the stack. "We may have them done in an hour or two."

"Doubtful," he countered. "But I am working with the-Brightest-witch-of-her-age, so perhaps."

She blushed, favoring him with a grin. "You'll see."

They fell into a comfortable silence as they worked together on redoing the previous calculations and somehow balancing them. It was close to wonderful to be working with numbers again. How long had it been since she'd flexed the boundaries of her mind? Too long, and she didn't realize how much she had missed it. It didn't take Hermione long to notice a pattern, and to see that no matter which combination she used, it looked nowhere near to the symbols represented in the spectral image. Still, she was determined to run through every one, _just in case._ She wouldn't waste a second of Harry's time.

Working with Draco reminded her of one time when she'd been partnered with the former-Slytherin in Herbology class, fifth year. It had been surprisingly easy working alongside him as they performed the Herbivicus Charm on Shrivelfigs. That was, of course, _after_ he had got the usual obscenities out of the way. Still, just like before she found it mildly soothing to be in his company whilst partaking in any sort of academic pursuit. He was knowledgable and she appreciated that. It wasn't often she found an intellectual match in someone, but in Draco she felt like it was staggeringly obvious they matched quite evenly on an intellectual basis.

He looked so _debonair_ , as well.

How anyone could make crunching numbers look sexy, she wasn't sure, but he could. There was a slight crease in his forehead from concentration, and his platinum fringe fell perfectly over his face. She had the sudden urge to push it back, and to fist her hands in his hair while she was at it, wanting to feel it move through her fingers. Her eyes moved further down, admiring the way his black suit clung to his fit body. She appreciated the glimpse of the well-defined physique that the suit afforded her, knowing what lay underneath.

His fingers also caught her attention; they were long and dexterous as they flexed and moved over the parchment. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered other things those fingers had been known to do. His eyes were glued down to the table, but if he looked up, she was sure she would forget how to breathe.

She had to physically shake herself to focus back on the Runes and numbers that were looking bleaker by the moment. Things with her and Draco were somewhat complicated, and she couldn't think about _that_ when she was focusing on how to help Harry.

In the end, it took an hour and a half to redo all the work Zabini and Draco had done, using the Chaldean method instead.

"It doesn't add up." She kept glancing between the imprint and their shared work.

"No," Draco agreed, looking more ragged than before. "It definitely doesn't."

"Don't worry about it," she hurried to console him. "I'll read through these books in no time. There'll be something else we can try to solve it." Now that she had something to do, she would be sure to make progress while he was away—he had enough to deal with.

"Don't work too hard." His chief concern seemed to be about her, of course. "And remember to have Mimsy bring you lunch. My parents will be returning around five. You should probably be doing something unscrupulous by then, like wandwork or reading a Wizarding romance."

She nodded. "I'll set my wand on a timer."

"Return the papers into the case and lock it."

"All right."

Once more, she was struck by the strong desire for him to stay, but knew she could not force him to be so reckless. He bid her goodbye and left without giving her so much as a kiss. She didn't know why that would bother her so. She would have to figure out how best to deal with Draco and assure him that despite the thorny circumstances of their marriage and impending parenthood...she didn't _really_ hate him. Far from it, actually. He was her husband, after all! But with no clear plan on how she could possibly convince him of her change of heart, she sighed and forcefully pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. Grabbing her book, _Ancient Nordic Runes,_ she began to read.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	9. Unfortunate Session of Tea

**~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione often fell victim to moments where she was plagued with doubts.

There were times when she worried things to pieces, usually when something didn't come to her instantaneously.

Harry's ward issue was one of those times.

When she closed her eyes, all she saw was numbers and Runes, spinning wildly through her brain. All the possible options and combinations gave her a pounding headache. She remembered being much more practical about such things when she was still a student at Hogwarts. She rarely panicked when she didn't get something right immediately, but then such an occurrence _rarely_ happened.

The dark and insidious doubt had returned to her like a plague, infecting her mind.

It was doubly hard to work under such circumstances. She told herself that the solution was likely to approach the situation with some of that practicality she used to possess. Azkaban had left lasting effects on her confidence and her ability to think clearly. It was often difficult to get out of her own head to see what needed to be done.

She had pored through book after book in her thus far fruitless mission to crack the seemingly impossible ward problem. It was important that she first figure out what exactly the psychotic, but begrudgingly brilliant, wizard had cast before she could unravel how to break it. The disturbing notion that Voldemort was the only wizard that could break them had snuck up on her more than once. Her magic bristled ominously at the suggestion, as if she could break the wards on pure determination alone, just by allowing her magic to run free as it so badly wanted to.

The temptation to try it was great.

She eyed the curved, rock wall, eerie blue light dancing and licking at the stone from the sconce in the room Malfoy was in. The doorway with the complicated ward was only footsteps away, nothing in her way but a useless guard standing sentry. Her fingers itched at the prospect, but her brain halted the movement.

It was far too spontaneous and rash to consider.

Suppose she was wrong, and Voldemort became aware of his wards being triggered? Once he sensed the danger, he would pluck Harry from his prison and whisk him to somewhere unreachable. It was too great a risk to take with Harry's life. She simply had to solve the intricate puzzle that was Voldemort's complicated wards. It was imperative she discover everything she could about them before she made any impulsive moves.

"Your brain never stops, does it?"

Hermione grinned, jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of her best friend's voice. "Sorry, Harry. I was just thinking about—"

"—the wards?" Beneath the dirt and grime she saw a slow spreading smile. "I figured as much. It isn't as if I haven't thought about them to death myself."

She swallowed audibly, suddenly realizing that Harry had probably spent very much of his time wracking his brain for any possible solution just as she was. And for what? The information was simply not there. When Tom Riddle had graduated from Hogwarts, Hermione was sure he gathered all the knowledge he could after his education. Traveling to distant places and far off villages in his quest for information. Hermione could not even begin to imagine all he had learned. He'd had _time_ —and that was simply a luxury that they didn't have.

"We need to find the same information _he found_ ," Hermione told him, placing her hand on his shackled one. "And we will."

"That's if he hasn't destroyed it already."

Hermione's brows rose in surprise.

"Snape had said You-Know-Who had went through the school library, taking and destroying some of the books."

Hermione's magic crackled furiously at the blasphemous notion.

"I'm sure anything that he has gathered he has also made sure no one else will find, either."

"Has he raided Pureblood libraries?"

"I'm not sure. That's a question for Malfoy."

"Not yet," came the sharp answer from the blond standing guard around the corner. "But I wouldn't be surprised if that's next."

She sighed, pressing her lips in a tight line. "Draco, why don't you just come sit in here with us?"

"I'm giving you two privacy," he retorted.

"There is no privacy to be had in here, the prison is too small," she informed him logically. "You may as well join us."

"No thank you, Hermione. I'd rather be on my feet should we be happened upon."

She narrowed her eyes at his shadow that stood out against the wall, then glanced at Harry and shrugged. "I suppose he's right. We'd only have seconds notice for me to jump under the cloak and for Draco to start…"

"Torturing me," Harry supplied helpfully.

"Well...yes."

"Let's not waste our time then." Green eyes sought out hers and Hermione felt warm inside looking into the familiar orbs.

He was so filthy...how could he wake up each day and continue to live like this whilst keeping his sanity intact? Hermione was sure she didn't know—she hadn't been so lucky. "When is the last time you got to bathe?" she asked before she could help herself, then realizing her misstep, stopped and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Harry. That was quite rude of me."

Harry surprised her by chuckling, mirth dancing in his expressive eyes. "Don't be sorry. I like to talk about... _normal things._ It helps me stay...grounded I guess. Snape and Malfoy's visits are probably the only reason I haven't gone mad," he said with a wistful smile. "But to answer your question, a Healer sees me fairly regularly...about once a month. He usually _Scorgifies_ me then. For some reason, You-Know-Who wants me in relative health, despite the chains."

"Well…" Hermione trailed off uncertainly. "I'm glad for that at least." She cocked her head. "Whatever his reasons for keeping you in...I suppose _good health,_ we won't be staying around to find out why."

"No, we won't."

"I wish I could bring you books or something to read." She observed him, noting that he looked surprisingly content.

"You can't leave anything here."

"I _know that,_ but I still I wish I could. What do you do all day?"

"A little of this and a little of that." He smirked looking every bit the mischievous first year she had met so many years before. "I sleep a lot, but I exercise too, and when I'm not planning my revenge...I sometimes tell myself stories."

"Stories?" she prodded.

"Yes, a trick I picked up living in a closet under the stairs for so many years." He chuckled again. "Snape and Malfoy keep me grounded, and then I keep myself busy."

"And do you get more... _visitors_? You know...that do the things Malfoy and Snape are supposed to be doing?"

Harry's eyes hardened considerably, green eyes somehow darkening. "Only one...Macnair."

Hermione felt raw fury surge through her chest. She wanted desperately to keep Harry from being mistreated, and the fact that she was helpless to do so was enough to torment her. She kept her expression placid, _for Harry's sake,_ but she could hardly conceal the calculating sharpness in her gaze as she continued to think of how best to solve the situation.

"Don't worry," Harry rushed to comfort her. "It's nothing I can't handle. At least You-Know-Who has been lapsing in his visits. I can deal with one person."

"Does he come often?" she prodded, not trusting the malice to not come through in her voice.

"Not much anymore. I guess everybody is fairly busy trying to snuff out the last of the rebellion. But in a way...it's good."

"Good?" She frowned at the idea.

He nodded. "Yes, the pain reminds me I'm still alive."

A cold, hard knot formed in the pit of her stomach and she felt suddenly nauseous. What madness was this that Harry needed to feel pain to remind him that he was still alive? Hermione wished badly that she could change _everything_ but she was helpless to do even that.

Footsteps echoing ever closer brought her out of her private musings. Draco appeared, features hard and determined. "We need to leave—we've stayed long enough."

"All right." She leaned down to embrace her friend, wishing she could haul him with her, and irritated beyond belief that she would be forced to leave him behind once again. "I'll come and visit soon," she promised. "Just know we are doing everything to figure this out, Harry."

A roguish grin pulled at his lips. "I know you are, Hermione." Appreciation shone in his gaze. "I'm lucky to have three of the most brilliant wizards on my side."

She returned his smile, hoping that she could truly do as she promised. She meant it, of course, she would stop at nothing. "Goodbye, Harry."

She pulled herself up and ventured towards her husband, who gave Harry a stiff nod. She allowed Draco to carefully drape the Cloak over her head once more and walked with him silently to the exit.

"Are you sure you don't want to _Imperio_ me again?" she jested, surprised she was able to even joke about such a thing, but she was unable to elicit a humorous response from him.

"Let's just go at it quietly."

She nodded even though he couldn't see the movement, feeling suddenly sullen and let Draco lead her quietly through the Ministry. It wasn't until they were in the safety of his chambers that he spoke to her again.

"You still didn't tell him?" He tilted his head to the side quizzically.

Draco didn't need to explain to her further what exactly it was that she didn't tell. She knew instantly that he was referencing her pregnancy. He was correct of course, for whatever reason she hadn't brought the subject up to Harry.

"No," she admitted. "It seemed like Harry had enough on his plate to deal with, and I didn't want him to worry about me."

Draco nodded stiffly, and turned to begin dressing for bed.

Hermione felt a flicker of trepidation flare up in her. Draco was still being uncharacteristically distant with her. If she were fresh from school and he was treating her this way, she may have almost called it kind, but being as she possessed the memories of Jean and saw how sweet he was capable of being, she knew how _good_ things could be between them, and she longed for it to be that way again.

In a moment of rushing clarity, she realized she felt resentment towards her oblivious counterpart. He had been so careful, _almost loving,_ with Jean. Yet to her, he was stiff and guarded. Why was she so different? Sweet Morgana, she was still the same person! Surely, if he could feel that way towards Jean, he could also feel that way towards her!

Maybe the issue was that he thought she no longer wanted him to be that way. Wracking her brain, she tried to remember if she ever gave him any indication that she liked the soft way in which he had dealt with her.

But, no.

The only things she could remember were harsh words thrown back at each other. The only time he had been tender with her were in moments of panic such as after her meeting with Voldemort. He'd comforted her, and he'd even slept with her that night. Granted, he was a bit rough, much rougher than he'd been before, but she _liked it._ It might have even led to a fledgling trust, a new closeness they had reached together with her actually present...if she hadn't so effectively closed him down the next day.

Yes, she'd been a bit harsh—irate even—but he had to know she hadn't _meant_ some of the things she said.

She sighed, feeling something akin to hopelessness. She simply had to convince him that _she_ cared about him, _not just Jean,_ that she was in this _with him,_ and that she no longer viewed this as a forced partnership.

In a moment of transparency she realized this was _true._

She may have not had much of a choice in initially consenting to their union, but whatever rocky start they had suffered, it was clear in her heart that she wanted to be here, and wanted to be with him. It was no use verbally sparring with him left and right, he was _on her side,_ and she was finally coming to accept it.

Truthfully, Draco had done more for her than any person ever and she couldn't be more thankful.

She needed to take care of the Draco situation, and she would add it right next to the learn Occlumency, and the break Harry's wards situation. It was important Draco knew her feelings had changed, and she hoped with everything that his had not.

**~oOo*oOo~**

It was borderline nightmarish to be forced in the same room as Greengrass and Parkinson. No, it most certainly _was_ nightmarish.

The girls had thinly-veiled hatred brimming in their eyes, regarding herself and Alice as if they were insects that needed to be squished.

It was all Hermione could do to keep up the front of Jean. As Hermione, she wanted nothing more than to whip out her wand and challenge both of the haughty Purebloods to a duel, rather than be forced into their company when it was so abundantly clear they _did not_ wish to be there. It wasn't like Hermione wanted to be there anyway.

Thank Merlin for Narcissa's presence.

If it wasn't for the elderly witch facilitating the rather unfortunate get together, Hermione did not think she would have been able to keep up her act for very long.

"Jean," Narcissa gestured to the ornately decorated tea pot - she really did set up quite the beautiful tea service, "won't you pour for us?"

"Of course, Narcissa." Hermione forced her eyes empty and adopted an unwitting expression as she did as Narcissa bid, all the while feeling the eyes of her former Slytherin nemeses skewering her.

The whole situation was baffling.

Why she should be worried about pouring tea correctly while donning a ridiculous dress was beyond her. Had she been thrown inside Azkaban only to be released years later to a world not dissimilar to a Gothic romance? Was everyone simply ignoring the fact that thousands were dead thanks to a war that had ravaged the earth for ten years? Was the solution to play Victorian ladies living in the past? There was no technology anymore, and as far as Hermione knew, they could very well be living in the 1800's. Voldemort seemed bent on forcing humanity back a hundred years.

Narcissa folded a napkin over her lap and then turned her attention to Greengrass. "I hear your father is working on reopening Kings School of Magic in London, Daphne?"

Magical University? Hermione's interest was - begrudgingly - piqued at this. Narcissa had mentioned Kings - known to be part of the exclusive quinlium of schools spread over Europe, Asia, and Africa. There was a location in London, Rome, Hong Kong, Saint Petersburg, and Cape Town. At one point, Hermione had wished desperately for the chance of attending one, but they cost a terrifying amount of galleons a year. The knowledge that Voldemort was working to reopen one of the prestigious schools both equal parts irritated and intrigued her. She shouldn't be too surprised, Hermione had learned from Draco that Hogwarts had been reopened so it was clear the newly dubbed _ruler of the world_ valued education.

Greengrass reluctantly tore her eyes away from Alice. "Erm...yes. My father went to Tsinghua to study necromancy, and he's been tasked with reforming educational standards at Kings."

 _Reforming,_ Hermione inwardly scoffed. _I just bet there will be much reforming going on._ The school had been known to specialize in Charms and Transfiguration. She had no doubts that such innocent and valuable teachings would be pushed aside in favor of a much darker curriculum.

"How exciting, wouldn't it be lovely to have the opportunity for post Hogwarts education again?" Narcissa gingerly sipped her tea. "It's knowledge we don't want lost."

Alice smiled at Narcissa. "Theo wants to go there. He has his sights on getting his Dark Arts degree."

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at the clear admiration and pride that shone through Alice's brown eyes when she mentioned Theo. Part of her wondered if Draco or Blaise had desires to pursue further magical education. They would certainly be able to, given how brilliant they both were. What Hermione wouldn't give to attend one of those alma maters as well, in another life, perhaps.

"Oh, does he really?" Greengrass all but snarled, causing Alice to physically shrink back into her chair. "And what would you know about his ambitions, silly bird?"

Hermione had no choice but to grip the fabric that covered her thigh, her fingers itched so badly for her familiar vine wood wand.

"What about you, Pansy?" Narcissa deftly moved past Greengrass' question. "If I remember correctly, you were rather good with Divination. Ever thought of pursuing a Magical Master's?"

Parkinson, who had been rather quiet the entire affair, looked up with hollow eyes at Narcissa. "I'm not sure that's an option for me. I've been recently...married."

Hermione's eyebrows rose before she could stop them. The idea of Parkinson being already married, and without Hermione having heard about it, was surprising. Though she supposed that weddings were of a more quiet affair lately, what with the scandal involving Muggles hanging over the usually joyous affairs. Her marriage had had very few witnesses, so she supposed neglecting to hear about it wasn't all that surprising, if Parkinson had been forced to adhere to the marriage law as well.

"Oh?" Interest flickered across Narcissa's face. "To who, dear?"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," she answered stiffly. "He was a...Hufflepuff in my year."

Hermione remembered Justin—he'd been friends with Susan Bones, and she and Justin had joined Dumbledore's Army in fifth year. She hadn't even been aware the Muggle-born had survived the Battle of Hogwarts. She was happy for him, but at the same time—how was the former Badger going to deal with Slytherin's-Ice-Queen herself? She pitied the man.

"He'll probably have you pregnant by the week's end," Greengrass said sulkily. "Then I'll be the only one in this circle _not to be._ "

"I doubt that, Daphne." Parkinson stared sullenly into her teacup, as if she were evaluating tea dregs. "The problem with Pureblood lines may initiate with the females—you heard what Father had said."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy for the girl. Yes, she was _horrid_ and Hermione could probably never see her as anything but, yet it was easy to see that Parkinson was raised a certain way, and part of it couldn't be helped. The witch had expected certain things out of life, had her eye on certain men - men she now believed Hermione and even Alice to have stolen - but that was not the future she was given.

"If Purebloods can knock up the Muggle-scum, I'm sure the Muggle-scum can return the favor to us," Greengrass said, as logical as you please.

"Daphne," Narcissa chided, cool blue eyes appraising her angrily.

"My apologies, Lady Malfoy."

"I don't see why you're so bent out of shape." Parkinson turned towards her friend. "You've been given Thomas, haven't you? At least he's a Half-blood."

"And a barmy Gryffindor to boot." Greengrass set her lips in a petulant pout. "But what if it doesn't work? What if I need someone more...Muggle." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. "Like my sister, she is being given a full-on Muggle. The poor man is scared to death of witches, can you imagine? But 'Tori is a soft-spoken creature, I imagine she can handle it."

It was becoming very hard to conceal her emotions. First she found out Justin and Dean were still alive, then had to endure derogatory talk directed to Muggles and Muggle-borns, now she had to see a perhaps sensitive side to Greengrass? The fact that she seemed to speak fondly of the youngest Greengrass gave her a bit more humanity in Hermione's eyes.

"Granger gets along with Draco," Parkinson hazarded carefully, aware of Narcissa's ever-watchful eye. "So it's possible you will get along with your...former Lion." Then her thoughtful features splintered and she asked in a very Pansy-like fashion, "Or you can simply confine him to the Greengrass dungeons and only visit him when you have need of him, what does it matter?"

Hermione was struck with the rather demanding urge to launch herself over the table and knock the cruel witch to the floor. She could see Parkinson trying to reach for her wand as the two scrambled on the floor, but Hermione would be quicker and she would rip it from her hands before snapping it in half and promptly punching the brunette in the face. The vision was highly tempting, but even more appealing was the wish to _stay alive_.

It was important Hermione kept her front of Jean up, because no one suspected Jean, but if she were Hermione? - she would be subject to constant and scrupulous inspection - inspection she would likely fail, what with her rather unfavorable record with Occlumency. Part of her wondered if Narcissa already knew Hermione had returned to herself, she was a sharp witch after all. But regardless, she didn't think Narcissa would go against her son or his wishes, it was the others Hermione needed to be wary of.

She shoved aside the righteous indignation that burned through her chest and instead forced herself to make polite chit chat and even engage Alice whenever possible. One thing was certain, a lot could be learned from these little get togethers if one was paying attention.

**~oOo*oOo~**

" _LEGILIMENS_."

The curse slammed through Hermione's head - in an almost brutal sort of way - and she marveled at how unforgiving his magic could be. Part of her wanted to erect shields in her mind, just to keep the invasive and foreign presence _out._ But Hermione remembered that they were practicing and that would be counterproductive.

Maybe some other time, but at the moment, she needed to dredge up memories _and fast._

The ones she had mentally prepared prior to his rather powerful spell, splintered and scattered across her mind, leaving everything to be a rather jumbled mess. _Calm the fuck down,_ she mentally berated herself. _This is my mind, and I'll feed him what I want him to see._

So she started with her day. From waking up and summoning Mimsy, to selecting her dress for the tea party.

That was _easy._

What was harder was to falsify thoughts.

As he continued searching, she instinctively realized he was looking for the thoughts behind the actions.

That was _harder._

She'd only thus far dealt with summoning images - _innocent images in her mind's eye_ \- and throwing that at her attacker. She had some experience with trying in vain to conceal her _feelings,_ when he was pulling and wrenching memories to the surface that had no business being brought to light. Yes, with those memories came rather _strong emotions_ , but now he was looking for her thoughts?

In her panic, she let some slip, before she realized the only solution.

There were thousands of times when her thoughts didn't center around Voldemort or Harry or even Draco. She called those thoughts to surface and thrust them with the given memories.

Gods, it was all so complicated and she was going to have one massive headache, but as she did it, it became much easier to do.

Injecting harmless thoughts, like stepping from one room to another - what would she eat for lunch? - that girl certainly looks like a pug nose bully - to rather routine memories proved to be the perfect solution to her dilemma.

He searched faster, _really looking,_ and Hermione briefly feared he would discover all the internal and private musings she purposefully locked deep in her mind.

But really...would it be so bad?

Part of her screamed that it _would be,_ that it would hinder the lesson, not to mention force her to be quite vulnerable in Draco's eyes, but ultimately, the goal was to prove she could do this! That she had taken learning seriously and was not just casting it aside in favor of taking care of Harry's problem. Draco had made an oath with Snape, and the hell if she would be making him look bad in front of their former professor, nor would she force him to endure the physical discomfort of breaking a wizard's vow should he decide not to Obliviate her, or face the option of falling victim to the memory charm should he honor the vow. It was imperative that she learn.

And so she locked the feelings deep in the recesses of her mind - she could show him or tell him some other time - in favor of convincing him she could do this.

The deeper he searched, the further back he looked, she was _ready for him._ If he wanted something deeper, she gave it to him in the form of heart-stopping fear. She gave him frazzled and disoriented pieces of thought as she lay curled in the fetal position in Azkaban, or even terrifying confusion as she was brought to the manor. Whenever he tired, she prepared something else for him.

It was deeply complicated.

She had to shutter her true thoughts whilst she dredged up other ones. It felt like she had a split personality, but the more she did it, the more she got used to it, and the more she was able to effortlessly escape his attack, dancing around what he really wanted to see in favor of giving him what she would _allow_ him to.

When he receded from her mind, smug satisfaction took over her body at the sight of the almost incredulous look on his face. Of course, she couldn't have simply remained standing to gloat for a few moments without teetering precariously and falling promptly to her bum.

No—that would have been _too convenient._

Draco was there in seconds, kneeling down beside her.

"Are you all right?" Concern flooded his face, and for a moment Hermione felt like she was staring at the Draco that had cared for Jean.

She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell him she was rather ill and would he please carry her to bed. Was she psychotic? She felt guilty just entertaining the notion at all.

"I'm fine," she told him as she hauled herself to her feet. Then she turned to face him, smiling brightly. "How did I do?"

"How do you think your performance was?" It was a simple statement, a probing one. He wanted her to evaluate herself.

"I...I stumbled a bit at first. You were performing the spell so well, so intensely, it was hard for me to initially navigate it. But then I got used to it, and I started keeping up with you," she told him in a confident tone, unable to tear her eyes away from the pale grey eyes that held so much knowledge. "It became easier to thwart your attack, I got _used to it,_ and even when you picked up speed the easier it got for me, it only caused me to work faster." She saw approval and budding pride in his eyes that made her heart soar. "I think...that if you were to perform the spell again, I may be able to do it again, except not letting anything slip this time. I know that if You-Know-Who were to merely graze my mind like he did the last time, I would definitely be able to block him from seeing anything important—I could block him for _a while._ "

She smiled tremulously, hoping that she had said the right thing, hoping that she hadn't just imagined the pride she saw in his eyes.

"I would agree with your assessment, though you did allow some private thoughts to slip in the beginning, and then again when I intensified the spell, you still managed to block most of it. I think with a little more practice, you could be _very good_ at this type of Occlumency."

Hermione preened under the praise, not realizing just how much she had wanted to impress him. Really, when had that become her life's goal? Of course, there was the ward issue, but even as badly as she wanted to solve that for Harry - for herself - she also wanted to do it for Draco who'd been struggling so much with the impossibility of it. She wanted to prove to him that she didn't give up for her friends and she certainly wouldn't be giving up for him.

He walked towards the little table that held his crystal decanter of Ogden's and poured himself a coppery glass. He raised his eyebrows in offering and Hermione was momentarily shocked by the action.

"I can't," she stuttered. She gestured to her still flat belly. "Pregnant, remember?"

Slate grey eyes momentarily sparkled, and Hermione's narrowed in suspicion as the possibility that he had merely been testing her came to the forefront of her mind.

That was another thing Jean had on her—with Jean there were no tests and _she_ was always given the benefit of the doubt. Bitter bile rose in her throat.

Exasperated, she stepped towards the bed. They'd once again awake until late into the night which seemed to become a trend for them.

Hermione didn't bother stepping behind the jade-ivory dressing screen with the serpentine carvings, he had already seen her naked many times, she instead began slipping off her gown right where she stood. She eyed the black silk dress shirt lying harmlessly on the floor. He had probably worn it that day, had probably sweat in it, but if anything, that made it look all the more appealing. She traversed towards the abandoned article of clothing and stooped down to pick it up.

He still wasn't looking at her, seemingly enthralled by the copper liquid swaying in his glass.

She suppressed a scowl and slipped off her bra.

This he noticed.

She could tell instantly because she could feel the heat of his gaze on her, could hear the sudden intake of breath.

Good.

That was a very good sign. She still had an effect on him.

Pretending as if she hadn't noticed, she reached for the stolen shirt on the bed and began pulling it on, careful to stretch and arch her back as she did so.

Gods, she didn't know how to be seductive in the least. It wasn't as if she were Ginevra Weasley or Lavender Brown, but the hell if she wouldn't try.

She wanted Draco to notice her and wanted him to see her as he'd seen her before. She wanted him in _that way,_ as a wife wants and needs her husband. She'd be damned if she didn't fight to keep hold of what she felt was rapidly slipping away.

She briefly debated leaving the oversized shirt unbuttoned, but Merlin, she wasn't a vixen! She ultimately decided on buttoning the important middle buttons, then she crawled onto the bed and over to her side.

Regrettably, she could no longer see him through the canopy drapes that hung over the bed, but that could be easily remedied.

"Aren't you coming to sleep?" she asked innocently. Her brain worked frenetically on how best she could approach him. Should she lure him into conversation, feel him out and see if it was safe to spill her most private yearnings, or should she show him how desperately she desired him? She needed him to know her feelings for him _as Hermione,_ since they had changed—they'd transformed and intensified into something she couldn't even recognize.

She'd never been able to understand why girls liked this sort of thing, why they pulled out all the stops to pursue men or why they liked to have them wrapped around their finger? A small part of the reasoning behind this was dawning on her now—the power was intoxicating and the urge to be desired back was on the forefront of her mind. She didn't know what she wanted to do more, talk to him or go to bed with him.

He said nothing as he made his way to their bed - Hermione could never think of the Blue Room as her sanctuary anymore when his room was so much more appealing - and she felt the bed dip as he sat on it. He leaned down to take off his shoes and place them carefully at the edge. Merlin but he was tense—muscles and tendons strained in his neck. She wanted to massage him there, and on his back, and touch him much everywhere.

He kept his clothes on.

Why was he keeping his clothes on? He normally slept in his boxers. It was like he didn't trust himself or something. No matter how irritating it was that he'd kept his garments on, she was still thrilled at the likely reasoning behind it.

"There was an interesting topic brought up at tea," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully.

"Oh?"

 _Man of so many words tonight,_ she sarcastically thought. "Yes, Parkinson's father is reopening Kings, can you imagine? I always wanted to go there." She sighed wistfully at the recollection of days long past when her dreams were much simpler.

"I never wanted to go there," Draco said, and Hermione's heart fluttered at the realization that he was speaking to her about a topic that didn't have to do with Harry or Occlumency, even if it was wholly ridiculous that he didn't want to go to one of the quinlion schools. It figured that someone who could actually afford it would dismiss it. "I always wanted to go to Sonorius, in Rome. They had an excellent reputation for producing some of the best duelers and incorporating many Transfiguration spells in dueling."

Hermione momentarily forgot her titillating urge to woo Draco in favor of this line of conversation. "Really?" She couldn't help rolling to her side in her enthusiasm. "Do you think You-Know-Who will reopen that one too?" As soon as the words were out, she wished to recall them. It was as if for a brief moment, she had become used to the new world and the way things were, and that would never do. The whole point of everything was to change things—for the better. "I mean," she rushed to explain. "I know all the schools will probably reopen eventually - _when we succeed -_ but I'm just wondering if there are plans to...open it sooner."

"I think the Dark Lord plans to reopen all the schools, but it doesn't really matter. I certainly couldn't leave my post to attend, and even if I did, I imagine it would be Dark Arts and not Defense against them that would be the focus now."

Hermione gulped at the horridness of it. It was really quite despicable that his dreams should be squashed. All the more reason for her to hate Voldemort, and just when she thought her hate could stretch no further. "I'm sorry." She really meant the words as she reached out to place a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "That really is rather infuriating. I wish you'd been given the opportunity...you know...to go."

"I'm not a child anymore," he wrenched away from her grip. "I can certainly deal with disappointment."

"Yes." Hermione was not having his rejection today and she sidled up next to him so that her chest pressed against his back. She placed her hands on his shoulder and neck and began squeezing, easily finding the knots that had formed there. "Better than most, I'd imagine, but you don't have to pretend not to care, not around me."

He was so tense, and if anything becoming tenser under her touch. She couldn't fathom why he was having such a reaction to her. Hadn't they studied together for hours quite peaceably? They'd even debated theory and practiced Occlumency. She knew he could talk to her without closing himself off, so why was he doing so now? His body was strained, as if she were something to be wary of. The madness of such a notion!

She let her hand trail lower, feeling the muscles flex beneath the material of the dressing robe. She snuck her leg around his, moving carefully lest he push her away.

"Draco," she whispered his given name and saw gooseflesh rise on the exposed column of his neck. "Let me comfort you...I want to."

There was a moment, one mind-splintering moment where she thought he may actually give in to her, but it disappeared as if it had been vanished away. He sat up quickly, physically dragging her back to her side of the oversized bed, far too great a distance from him. "No, Hermione," he said definitively. "You don't need to do that, whatever you think you owe me, you don't."

Hermione scowled once more, a litany of words prepared on her tongue she would tell him, she wanted him to understand, but he silenced her when he began speaking again. "No," he said again. "I didn't want you to slip, and so I gave you reason to hold on to—Potter is that reason—that's what you hold on to and not to me. We have mutual goals, and that's all. You don't owe me _anything_."

The words she had been prepared to say died sourly on her tongue, forever lodged in her throat. He looked at her for a few more heart-stopping moments before he slipped away and moved to his side. She felt tears prickle at her eyes as his words replayed in her head. She was so confused and so many feelings warred in her head, but chief among them was the bitter sting of rejection. It was a very good thing she hadn't told him what she'd been thinking—she would have surely set herself up for even more heartbreak.

**~oOo*oOo~**


	10. Ogham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Beta Love: RoOjoy and Maloreiy-thank you bunches C:**

**~oOo*oOo~**

She was alone.

Not that she was complaining, exactly. She was in the library, perhaps her favorite place to be in Malfoy Manor, especially when all the Malfoys had vacated the premises. Lucius and Narcissa had left for the evening, and Draco was still at the Ministry.

Hermione should be pleased he was gone.

He'd made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in her, beyond what sick sense of debt he seemed to believe he owed her. Since when had Draco gone off and sprouted a conscience? It was _bloody offputting,_ because not only had he made it clear he wasn't into her, he'd also revealed to her that he was only feigning interest so long as she didn't know _about Harry_ , and now that she knew, he didn't find it worth putting up the facade of interest any longer.

Well that was...demoralizing.

He seemed to harbor the belief that she was only getting close to him thanks to some kind of repayment she allegedly thought she owed him. What a silly notion! How dense was the man, really?

It would figure, now that she had come back to herself - _as Hermione_ \- and began to trust him of her own volition, that's when he would draw away from her. She could finally take him at his word, he'd proven himself trustworthy and he had revealed hope was alive in the form of Harry. Regardless of his sudden distantness, she still trusted him. Somewhere along the line Draco had gone and developed up a sense of morals, no longer struggling to know the difference between the Dark and the Light. He had turned over a new leaf - betrayed the Death Eaters - and it was clear she had a firm ally in her forced husband.

Hermione stared with listless eyes at the books lining the shelves. She felt dull and sluggish. A small, embarrassed part of her had _thought_ \- hoped, rather - that he was in this partly for her. It was a very self-serving idea, that of a foolish girl, but once the admission was made, she couldn't deny it. Admittedly, the notion was largely responsible for the disappointment she felt. It had been kind of nice to imagine that Draco _loved her._ Nice, but not exactly plausible. She'd been through war, prison, and now a different kind of torment. One would think she wouldn't fall victim to such a romantic line of thinking after all of that. Clearly the world was different.

Clearly the world had taken a dastardly turn. Ministries - and _Muggle governments!_ \- had fallen to Voldemort. Did she think there would be room for love in such a predicament? All the more sillier.

But he…

...He made her feel things!

How far along had she gotten with Ron? Some intense snogging, some groping here and there. Never then had she felt so on fire, _so alive,_ as she felt with Draco. Maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe intense groping didn't equate to what her and Draco had done together. Perhaps if her and her former boyfriend had made it to this point, would things have been just as passionate between them?

Either way, Draco was experienced and she was _not._

She wasn't exactly surprised with how sex-driven their relationship had been in the beginning. He was clearly used to such closeness wherein it had all been quite magical and new to her. She shivered helplessly at the thought. There was no sense laboring under the delusion that he had felt the same. At the very least she needed to approach this with level-headedness.

Could she really expect anything more from her marriage vows, more than what he'd voluntarily offered? He'd saved her life! He wanted her pregnant to, once more, _save her life._ It was clinical on his part. The whole time he'd had a goal she was blissfully unaware of, but he had protected her _,_ and now she was wallowing in self-imposed pity because she wanted it to be _more?_

Rather ungrateful of her, she supposed.

She couldn't expect love on top of everything else he was giving her.

He _hated_ her since first year, and such hate didn't simply vanish overnight. She promised him she would help with deconstructing the magical wards and that was what she needed to focus on.

The whole situation left her feeling rather...dull _._

She riffled with the pages of the ancient Irish text in her hand. It was hard to focus when she was so...disappointed _._ Runic symbols swam before her eyes as she attempted to read through the unfamiliar etchings on the page, but she was hardpressed to do so.

Despite her efforts to console herself, to tell herself that it was alright _,_ she couldn't help the tendril of determination that sparked through her chest. The more she resigned herself to the fact that Malfoy was not in the cards for her, it sort of, strangely, made her all that much more resolute in determining if there was any way she could make this marriage work.

**~oOo*oOo~**

"So you've returned," Hermione said, shuffling through dresses on the floor of their shared room. "What is it that you do all day at the Ministry, anyway?"

Draco strode up to where she was sitting, plucked a gown off of the floor and tossed it at her. "Try to look like I'm busy helping when really I'm sabotaging."

"Hey," she scolded, catching the dress he threw at her. "I was sorting these."

"You'll need to put one on," he advised her. "We leave for dinner in five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

"That's right." Draco walked to the chiffarobe and withdrew ebony- colored dress robes with silver stitching. "Last-minute plans."

"I don't like last-minute." She eyed him cautiously.

He met her stare, his features hardening. "Neither do I, but what choice do we have? It's at the behest of the Dark Lord."

Images of dark manors and Gothic dining rooms flooded her thoughts. "I don't want to go, Draco," she said definitively. "Say I'm ill or something."

"You know you must." He shot her a meaningful look. "You now know the importance of keeping up appearances. It would only anger him if you weren't there."

Hermione felt suddenly panicked. "And if he sweeps my mind?"

"You're ready."

She glared at him acidly. "So you hope. After one mediocre lesson? Really?"

"Let's hope he doesn't. But failing to attend would bring on more suspicion than showing up and playing the part would." He paused in his movements. "We both know you're strong enough."

"I hope so."

Hermione struggled out of the fairly plain dress she'd been wearing and stepped into the cream-colored gown he'd thrown at her. It had ruffles on the skirt, and no straps. It all seemed quite unnecessary to her, but she knew it was pointless to argue. Once she had the dress secured, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, noting the thick curls that hung below her bare shoulders. She summoned pins and set to the task of placing the riotous hair neatly on the top of her head. Satisfied, she turned to see Draco was already fastening his cuff links.

"Ready?" he inquired.

"Yes."

She linked her arm through his so as to bypass the wards that kept her bound to the manor and stepped into the Floo with Draco. They immediately found themselves walking out into a courtyard teeming with people. The light was scarce and magical lights were already illuminating the dimly lit area.

"What is this place?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"A lot of businesses have reopened as of recently," Draco answered simply. "The Dark Lord doesn't wish for people to hide out in their homes. He wants to see his new world thrive."

That made sense. And truth be told, she was pleased with the development. Time spent with Draco may be exactly what she needed despite if she had to share said time with foreboding Dark Lords. It was as Draco had said, Hermione could _evade now._ Should Voldemort choose to catch her off guard, she would be ready for him. She may as well enjoy the brief interlude from her luxurious prison.

She sidled closer to Draco, taking advantage of his forced proximity and making sure to press against him as they walked. She felt him stiffen initially, but eventually he relaxed much to Hermione's relief. She could almost imagine she was somewhere else, or rather some other time _._ Perhaps she was working as a Curse-breaker at Gringotts? Draco was her co-worker and he'd finally drawn up the courage to ask her out. He was taking her to a rather fine British restaurant in Muggle London. Their friends were baffled that the two had agreed to seeing each other, but neither could summon the energy to care, the war was over and prejudices had been put to rest. She found herself smiling at the daydream she'd painted in her head.

"Are you on your game?" The concern that passed over Draco's face abruptly ended her fantasy.

"Yes, of course. I'm just happy to get out of the house."

"Didn't seem so before—you wanted to claim ill."

"Wouldn't you?" She leveled her gaze at him. "I'm trying to see the positive side of everything—my new tactic in life."

"Couldn't have chosen a more difficult tactic."

She snorted. Oh, was he ever right! Even her overactive imagination could not distract her from the state of the world. Draco guided her to a restaurant - an Italian one - and they were quickly ushered through to the back of the restaurant by the Hostess. Hermione was distantly surprised by how busy the establishment was. She had expected it to be sparsely filled with people. Were there Muggles in attendance? Or Muggle-borns? Were they safe so long as there was a Pureblood they were given to? Now that the new marriage law had come forth, she wasn't sure what that meant for her kind, if she indeed had a kind.

The back of the restaurant surprised her, and that's when she realized she was not in London as she initially suspected, or even Britain for that matter. No, they had Floo'd to Italy. It was evident when she was suddenly able to see the Adriatic Sea, thanks to the large cut into the limestone of the cliff, offering a sweeping view into the outside world she'd been deprived of. The tables that dotted the cliff's edge were dimly lit, highlighting the dramatic view of the water.

When their large table came into view, Hermione felt like she was nobility being catered to. They were as close to the water as could be, and the long table was already packed with people. Some of them she recognized but many she didn't. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care, that was not how one made it through events such as these. She wrapped herself in something carefree and flippant, deriving energy from the wild scenery to her right as she took her seat.

Voldemort was there, and so was Bellatrix, and with the awareness of their presence came trepidation. Inwardly, her senses were heightened, but outwardly she forced her features to soften. She was acutely aware of what was being said, but made some effort to observe her surroundings. She could almost let herself be distracted by them, and let her imagination take her away again, but now was not the time to be tempted.

Hermione draped her linen napkin carefully over her lap, feigning a serene look in her eyes as she gazed off into the distance. It was better to play the part of the daft wife than to let slip any of the information she knew. She had something to live for now, which made it easier to slip into her role effortlessly whilst still being her sharpest.

Vaguely, Hermione was aware of Voldemort conversing with Draco. She sipped her fruit infused water delicately, smiling at whomever looked her way. She was just the little, oblivious, Muggle-born wife—nothing to see here! She had worried about coming initially, but one thing she had learned from Draco was the benefit of compartmentalizing. It made it easier to concentrate when she could shove the rest of her concerns aside, if only for a little while.

"Miss Malfoy," came the grating voice belonging to the one she hated most. "How you do look stunning tonight!"

"Thank you, my Lord." She dipped her head demurely. She was scared—but in a stunned, frozen sort of way which allowed her to move mechanically. It was almost like something cold and heavy had settled in the pit of her stomach, and she'd become used to it. "As do you, and Lady Lestrange."

Bellatrix snorted, but she saw amusement pass through Voldemort's ruby-red eyes. Fear threaded through her as she desperately hoped to have said the right words. She was in fear for her life, harboring deadly secrets, and if the tenseness she innately sensed coming from Draco was any indication, she knew they both were treading a fine line tonight.

"How are you enjoying Grotta accommodations?" he continued conversationally. "Different from what you are used to?" His smile turned feral and she felt Draco stiffen by her side.

"Quite lovely, Excellency."

Voldemort seemed to preen under the title, and Bellatrix shot her a reproving look.

"You are ever so kind for inviting us." She smiled sweetly, displaying teeth as she looked into his crimson eyes without batting an eyelash.

The power rolling off of him in dark, barely-controlled waves commanded respect - _demanded it_ \- so Hermione would give it to him, if she must.

Despite the pleased look that had spread over his snake-like face, Hermione knew Voldemort was nothing if not doubtful, and so she was prepared for the ambush of his Legilimency spell.

This one was more brutal than the last - more invasive _-_ but Hermione was prepared. She allowed him to sift through her memories without expressing even a modicum of outward concern. She offered herself threadbare to the Dark Lord, or at least he would think she had.

Hermione only gave him what she wanted him to see. She noticed the urgency with which he penetrated her mind, somewhat more suspicious than the last. That was fine. She had practiced with Draco and Draco had actually _uttered the spell._ Her husband had been rather ruthless in his plunging of her mind. Voldemort, in the midst of his faithful followers, was not so intense. He still searched tirelessly, but in the span of seconds, seemingly content by the blank canvas that he had discovered.

When Voldemort retreated, he turned to Draco. "Your wife fears you, but she equally cares for you. Excellent job breaking her, young Draco, and you are expecting! What a joyous occasion."

At this, Bellatrix actually did smile, apparently pleased with her nephew.

Draco returned the grin, placing his hand protectively around Hermione's thigh and squeezing it. His voluntary touch caught her attention and sent her senses on high alert for different reasons. She noticed he was always a bit more liberal with his attentions when they were in potentially fatal situations. Feeling like ever the Slytherin, she decided to take advantage of it.

Carefully, she let her hand fold over his, relishing in the skin to skin comfort he'd been keen on denying her recently. A muscle tightened by his jaw, but otherwise his face remained inscrutable as he took a bite of his capocollo.

Hermione almost wished it was just them at the restaurant. She could forget about the terror plaguing the outside world momentarily, so long as it was _just them._ She'd climb on his lap so that he would notice her. She would link her hands around his neck and card her fingers into his hair. She would lean down to kiss his pouting lips that were currently set in a cruel, tight line. She wanted to change that, she wanted to change everything _._ She could hardly focus on her Truffle Parmigiana with him sitting beside her.

She should be thinking of the various texts she'd been poring over and the complex Rune she'd come no closer to solving, instead of fantasizing about her husband who had been doing his best to show her he didn't care for her _in that way_. Hermione mentally shook herself, willing herself not to let her mind wander in the midst of Voldemort's elite.

Everyone around her sipped out of wine flutes, and Hermione felt a flare of jealousy. Perhaps it was Elvin wine. They were so lucky! She had no choice but to abstain. How much more easier would it be to deal with with her current assembly if she were somewhat inebriated?

Her palms were beginning to sweat, acutely disturbed to be sitting in the presence of so many murderers. Despite how hard she attempted to keep calm, her mind kept working frenetically, assessing every situation, and she couldn't wrangle her thoughts into submission.

Luckily for her, or perhaps unluckily, something occurred that was impossible to ignore.

"Ibori," Voldemort said, his features devoid of emotion, save anger. "It's come to our attention that you've been less than helpful in our efforts to subdue the rebels."

Hermione felt the table instantly rise to high alert, herself included. One never wished to be called out by the Dark Lord in such a manner!

She recalled seeing Lord Ibori before, at the play. Was the man really failing in delivering the rebel base of Algiers? Was he possibly a member of it, a spy as was Draco? She recalled snippets of conversation she had heard behind her that horrible evening. She had the general feeling the man had been making excuses for himself, but maybe he was simply buying time for the resistance. If so, they should be defending him! Terror gripped her as she ate her food robotically, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"My Lord," the man stuttered pitifully. "The rebels are like roaches—they hide in holes here and there and it's never predictable. I've expended every effort in locating them, Excellency, but they disappear into the night like will-o'-the-wisps!"

"Excuses," Voldemort slammed his hand down on the table angrily, and Hermione watched as Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with unabashed excitement.

Whatever was coming gave Hermione a sick, dangerous feeling that set every muscle on high alert, tensed and poised to strike, but she was frozen in fear.

 _No,_ she screamed in her mind. _Please don't let me see this...I don't want to see this!_ And then a part of her, some part far more aware than her, reached out with her mind, stretching and flexing, until it touched that of her husband's. _Draco!_ The thought was as loud as a high-pitched scream, and she saw his eyes widen. He heard her! _Draco, what's happening?_

 _Hush, Hermione. Just eat your food and tune into the conversation with polite interest,_ came the answer, or rather the demand.

 _Are you Imperio'ing me again?_ She was compelled to ask him. She wouldn't be very surprised, it wasn't as if he hadn't taken such liberties before. But usually his Imperius was accompanied by a feeling of bliss - one of supreme ease - and that was decidedly missing.

_No!_

_Then how are we communicating like this...with thoughts!?_ She gripped her fork harshly. As scared as she was, she knew she should obey him as he always seemed to know what needed to be done.

_The marriage vows, I suppose. I told you they were old and archaic. There are some advantages, this being one of them...I guess._

Hermione chewed on her food, willing herself to _not gag,_ as she mulled over his words. Was there really a spiritual conduit that connected them, thanks to ancient Pureblood vows? Of course there was, another something to deal with in the midst of everything else.

"Nagini," Voldemort hissed, and Hermione quickly began to feel even more terrified. She hated that snake! It was so large and _foreboding._ Did Voldemort really mean to bring it to dinner?

"No, my Lord," Ibori pleaded passionately. "You have my loyalty, surely you know that. The African Ministry has doubled down on every resource to locate the rebels. That they evade us simply means we need more troops."

"That they evade you simply means you are incompetent," the Dark Lord told the cowering man dispassionately. "That you would dare waste my time." He nodded to his familiar, and Nagini quickly slivered her winding body up and over the table.

Ibori jumped up, climbing over plates of food and toppling goblets in his attempt to escape the giant beast, but Nagini was faster. She clamped down on his leg with her venomous fangs, halting him. He lay right in front of Hermione, not even a meter away, just staring with helpless eyes.

 _Draco,_ she warned in her mind.

 _It's okay,_ he told her internally. _He isn't one of ours._

Hermione didn't know if that was supposed to make her feel better, but it didn't! She was angry and everything inside her screamed to help! How could she ignore the situation?

Nagini whipped her body around the trembling form of Ibori, who was rather effectively ruining the expensive meal he was now lying in _._ The snake came around to the front of him, precariously close to where Hermione sat, and opened her big head to begin the task of swallowing the rather portly man whole!

Hermione could not tear her eyes from the scene, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much she wished to, or how much the foreign voice inside her head that belonged to Draco chanted for her to do so. Nagini was a skillful predator, not making the least bit of a mess aside from the spittle of blood that landed across Hermione's own plate. She wondered if it was intentional, a challenge even, from the snake's master hoping to elicit some response from her.

The now engorged snake moved across the table before sliding to the ground and coiling back from whence it came.

She was so out of her league when it came to dealing with Voldemort. Would it only be a matter of time before she slipped? She'd approached her dealings with him and his army like a game, but she was playing for her life—for her child's life and that of Draco's!

Voldemort was ruthless and cunning and completely devoid of emotion. She was human and not even close to the same intellectual level he was on, as she had discovered by trying to unravel his complicated ward. He was _everything,_ and she was _lacking,_ but instead of letting the truth of that insecurity hinder her, it only made her want to fight more.

Ignoring the blood, she ate her food pointedly, as if she didn't have a care in the world. She felt Voldemort's eyes on her, and was all the more resilient in her task.

Eventually, table conversation returned and the night somehow took a jubilant turn, everyone ignoring the destruction of one of their own. Hermione hardly noticed her beautiful surroundings as rage began to shake in her heart. She wanted nothing more than to defeat him, now more than ever! It was her life's goal, really. She would die trying—if necessary.

 _I want to go home,_ she told Draco in her mind.

 _Eventually,_ he assured her. _When the crowd begins to disperse, we will slip away._

**~oOo*oOo~**

"They're used with the Chaldean method, not Agrippan," she told Zabini, as the two got comfortable in their seats.

"Oh?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Yes," she continued, undeterred. "Draco and I have figured out that much at least. We're also fairly certain You-Know-Who used a combination of magical elements to strengthen his Runes, perhaps two or three."

"That's complex." He sighed as he sat back in his chair. "Runes and what else?"

"That's the issue we're having. I'm not sure what other branches have been combined."

"Maybe Arithmancy?" he suggested.

"Maybe," she conceded, reaching to pluck a rather old book from her towering pile. "This one is on Magical Theory. It talks about the _triferum_ , but that's as far as I've got."

"You mean the Avada, Cruciatus, and the Imperius?"

"No," she cast a glance around the comforting library, only wishing Draco were here. "That's the _trifecta_. The _triferum_ involves combining Charms, Runes, and Arithmancy to strengthen the ward. If we can figure out what alphabet he used, that may help us solve it."

Zabini glanced at the periodicals she had spread over the table. "Your research is all over the place. You don't think he used _Futhark_?"

"It isn't computing, as I'm sure you've already realized." She gestured to some Arithmancy calculations she'd made in addition to his and Draco's. "You surely see how it doesn't add up. Nothing makes sense _._ "

"But _Futhark_ is the oldest, wouldn't the Dark Lord want the oldest and the best?"

"Just because it is the oldest doesn't mean it's the best," she told him matter-of-factly. "I've been looking at other alphabets...Persian and Greek...still nothing...but then I was reading this Irish text yesterday, and there are a lot of benefits in etching Runes in this form, _highly powerful._ It's possible You-Know-Who opted for this selection."

Zabini scooted his chair next to her. "What's it called?"

" _Ogham_. It's an ancient Irish Rune form. As far as I can tell, it's not as old but it certainly has its perks. I've started using this in my Arithmancy calculations, and I feel like it could be working."

He raised his brows inquisitively. "Is it?"

"Well...it doesn't make much sense yet...but intuitively, I feel like it's the answer. I just need to code more variables, and then it might make more sense. Meanwhile-"

"Meanwhile, you need to figure out which other branches of magic may have been used."

She exhaled deeply, her brown eyes seeking his. "Exactly. So you see, not a lot of progress made, and it's risky to recode everything in _Ogham,_ but if I'm right, we may be close to solving this."

Zabini put a contemplative finger on his chin. "Right. Granger, take a break from recoding. Give me the Irish text and I can do that. Keep reading your Magical Theory and see if you can't identify which other branch the Dark Lord could have used. If two of us go at it, we may just figure it out."

She nodded, already reaching for the Magical Theory book. "All right, Zabini. We _can_ do this."

"We'll get even further when Draco gets back from the Ministry. We'll have it sorted in no time."

For some reason, Zabini made her feel slightly better. The task was so arduous, so impossible _,_ but with another scholar like herself on it, it seemed like they may actually be able to break this ward. Harry needed them, and damn if she would be outsmarted by a snake-wielding monster.

She cringed as she thought of what had occurred just two nights ago. How was she to stomach it? They'd been invited to a dinner - a _nice_ dinner - and murder had occurred. It made her sick just thinking about it. Even if, as Draco told her, Ibori wasn't on their side, he still didn't deserve to die in such a horrible way! And no one had batted an eyelash, including her. All the more reason to break Harry out of his prison and get him to the resistance, if not just for the sense of normalcy.

With Harry back, she could imagine she were brave again. The Hermione that Harry knew, would never sit idly by while a man was _eaten._ Everything would go back to how it was and _make sense._ How lovely would it be for everything to make sense again!

The text before her blurred in front of her eyes.

It was a text that had been written shortly after the mythical Tower of Babel, ancient and renowned. She should be focusing on it, but her thoughts inevitably drew to Draco.

Once again, their lives had been at considerable risk. At any moment, things could have taken a turn for the worse. She derived strength from the fact that they were in this together. Part of Hermione wondered if she was able to keep up the guise so well just from that fact alone. That coupled with the fact that she was carrying a child whom she absolutely did not want to bring into a world like this, and she was determined to do whatever it took to change things.

Despite what Draco had said to her several evenings prior - it didn't have to be that way - they didn't have to close each other off. Their beginning had been highly unusual, but that didn't mean they couldn't make it work. Hermione wanted to. She wanted her marriage to be a true marriage, one built on trust, love, and devotion. In the midst of all the insanity, there was something special—a definite spark. It was not in her nature to give up, even though giving up had been something she was tempted with as of late. Still, she was nothing if not resilient.

She wanted something more, regardless if the world had went to hell, or if her feelings were in turmoil. The need for that was as glaringly clear as her mission—a beacon of light in the midst of so much darkness.

Hermione made a valiant effort to pull her attention to the text. Chapter four was on the number four _,_ and the branches of magic that could be combined with the powerful number were staggering.

_Tetrapragmata—combining the ancient arts of Runes, Dark Arts, Arithmancy, and Charms. Tetrapragmata ruthlessly attacks an opponent, stealthily outsmarts one, and openly defies another. If the four branches of magic combine in the ominous sigil of the Tetrapragmata, bound by blood. Victory will be within reach to the one that wields it. Fiery is its combination, deadly is its success, difficult is the chance of any common witch or wizard wishing to wield it successfully._

Hermione sat up to attention

The _Tetrapragmata—_ more difficult to replicate in any Rune and certainly rigorous to break through….was that the Rune that Voldemort had lined Harry's ward with? Was blood required to sever the stringent bindings? Had Hermione inadvertently stumbled across the means to what tied a powerful wizard like Harry, away from accessing his own magic? He was in _a prison,_ his only way out was _escape._

Before Hermione could stop herself, she swiped the Irish text away from Zabini.

"What's come over you?" he wanted to know, watching with wide eyes as she leafed through the text. "I was on an important part in the book."

"The _Ogham_ ," she muttered frantically. "He _has_ combined it with other branches."

Zabini was telling her something, maybe it was _important,_ but all she could hear was the beating of her heart and the wheels turning in her brain as she shuffled through the pages.

 _Beith, Luis, Fearn, Sail..._ Tinne! - she read - _Meaning 'bar of metal,'_ she remembered the text well. Runes etched in _Ogham,_ but heavy laden in meaning. _Tinne_ would be hard to tear through, likely impossible to cut! She had a sneaking suspicion that it was the _Ogham_ Rune Voldemort had selected.

"Zabini," she called in a tone slightly unhinged. "Decipher this." She jot down the Rune combined with _Tinne_ as quickly as she could. "But what Charm will we use?" she muttered more to herself than to her partner.

"If Charms is your concern," Zabini ventured tentatively. "You might try a simple Binding Charm. Coupled with the intricacy of the other branches, I doubt it would be very simple to break."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes," she agreed. "The Binding Charm, combined with the Rune and this Arithmancy calculation, but Blaise-"

His eyes widened at the use of his first name.

"Use the dark variation of each Rune and number—the Dark Arts is the key to each numeric value and Rune—I'm sure of it—it's the fourth branch."

**~oOo*oOo~**


	11. All or Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Beta Love to RoOjoy and Maloreiy Xx**
> 
> **Also - my favorite WIP just recently was completed. ancilla by LeanaM. If you like au, you should DEF check it out. I'm a sucker for historical Roman X D**

** **

**~oOo*oOo~**

The sound of his parents' voices prattling on at the breakfast table ricocheted through Draco's head. It really was particularly vexing seeing as the night prior he had indulged in a single glass of Baijiu - a gift from the Chinese Minister - which had affected his head more than he would have anticipated. It normally took quite a lot of alcohol to make him feel so badly in the morning, but he'd underestimated the foreign substance.

What was even worse, Theo and Alice had joined them for their morning meal, and though the witch wasn't usually very talkative, her husband certainly was. Even the smell of Scottish sausage, eggs, and potatoes wafting through the air was not enough to lift his spirits. His mother had accused him of being increasingly moody as of late, and begrudgingly, he had to admit there was probably some truth to that.

"Who do you think will take Lord Ibori's place in the African province?" Theo asked no one in particular.

 _I don't know._ Draco jumped when he heard the sound of Hermione's voice in his already discombobulated head. _But let's hope he's got a bit more luck than Ibori did._

Irritation briefly flooded his features. He glanced up to see Hermione not deigning even to look at him as she sipped her tea as if nothing were amiss. All he could see was a rather distracting dimple gracing her right cheek, one that often appeared when she was trying to suppress a smile. He tried not to think about the flutter in his stomach, or the way his throat seemed to clog up with words he'd too long left unsaid. He brushed everything aside in an effort to focus. He hadn't even heard who his father had proposed would be a suitable replacement.

"...either him or Bello," Lucius was saying. "Either one would work, so long as they defer to those of us with seniority should any questions arise."

 _It would appear they'd be remiss not to,_ Hermione snarked.

Draco internally rejoiced that she could not hear his thoughts unless he sent them directly to her. That was one thing that worked in his favor in an otherwise endless stream of obstacles. That she had discovered their bond was, admittedly, rather troubling. As convenient as such a direct conduit between himself and Hermione could be thanks to the archaic marriage bonds, it was very early to already be dealing with it on top of everything else. And unsurprisingly, his little lioness was using the link to her advantage.

"How are you feeling, Jean?" Narcissa smiled warmly at her daughter-in-law, in a manner she only would to someone she truly cared about.

 _As good as can be expected for someone who's lost a war, been imprisoned, been freed only to be impregnated, and witnessed death and torture at every turn._ Aloud she said, "Quite well, Narcissa. Wonderful, actually."

She beamed up at his mother, and Draco tried to suppress an eye roll. He had a sneaking suspicion she was being overly dramatic for his benefit in the hopes she could get a rise out of him. It made Draco all the more determined to conceal his thoughts from her, as if it were some sort of challenge. It was much easier to remain distant, as he knew he must be, without encouraging her by sharing in her laughs. That would only leave the wrong impression and be counterproductive. She was broken and only just in the process of healing, he didn't need to confuse her further.

Something akin to glee passed through his mother's eyes as she looked around the table enthusiastically. "Last night we determined Jean and Alice are only a week apart in their pregnancies." She clapped her hands together to her chest. "Isn't that exciting?"

Draco glanced up sharply, scanning Hermione's features as he ran numbers through his head. _That means you're just shy of three months,_ he told her privately.

She looked up at him, stormy chocolate orbs clashing with his. _So now you answer me._ For a moment, she let her anger shine through, and he had to resist flinching away from the intensity of her gaze. But a second later, it was gone, and she appeared to be carefree and serene once more. _Glad to know the link isn't broken._

Draco looked away sulkily, half angry he'd broken the silence between them, but even more upset with the fact that she'd distracted him from the true breakthrough: that she'd become pregnant before the night he'd taken her passionately—before she told him she didn't want to risk it. That didn't changed a whole lot, but it changed _something._ For some reason, he felt like he could breathe easier. The guilt he carried from knowing there was a possibility he had lost control and explicitly done what she'd asked him not to was difficult to bear. It was absurd, considering all the burdens he was forced to carry, that this one in particular should be the one to weigh on him the heaviest, but there it was.

"It really does put an unnecessary strain on us, what with Ibori having been removed," Theo complained.

 _Removed,_ Hermione scoffed. _Honestly, does the man have any redeeming qualities? He's your friend, I challenge you to name one._

Draco clenched his jaw and avoided her gaze. He refused to be baited by her. He wasn't sure what game she was playing at, but Hermione was a clever witch and he had no doubts that she was up to something. He continued to meet her internal questions with silence.

"As if we didn't have to go to that insufferable country enough as it is." Theo's amber-hued gaze lifted to stare steadily at the members seated at the table. "Now we will have to frequent that abominable place even more frequently, and you've no idea how sweltering it can be."

"Hottest place in the world," Lucius agreed.

He could actually hear Hermione snort in his mind. _Honestly, are they even wizards? I mean, they have heard of Cooling Charms, haven't they?_

Theo chucked. "Every time I arrive, I'm tempted to go starkers."

Alice gasped.

Feeling like he needed to add something, Draco grasped for something to say, "I'm sure Ibori will be replaced soon."

"Hopefully." Theo shifted towards Alice, moving to interlock his fingers through hers, as if deriving strength from her touch. "My time is much better spent here."

 _Okay,_ Hermione conceded as she chanced a glance at the couple. _Maybe one redeeming quality._ Draco felt his lips start to pull, but quickly schooled his features.

Usually Draco had no trouble sitting through meals such as this one with his parents. He could slide into his role as _Lord Malfoy_ easily enough, and wear the guise as if he were slipping on a mask. But recently, a menacing sense of trepidation had settled in his chest, forcing him on edge. At any moment, he suspected that all of the months - _years_ \- of planning would come crumbling down around him. It was a dread he could not shake, so deeply embedded in his heart that he was just waiting for the moment in which he'd have to act swiftly.

The stakes were _so much higher_ now, much higher than they had been when he was by himself. Truthfully, when he'd started down this path of playing the double agent, it had almost been something close to fun - an adrenaline rush - he was by himself and he was young and though he would have never guessed it then, much more carefree than he was now. Of course, there were still his parents to deal with, still Snape whom he did not wish to fail, and there was also Granger - Hermione - locked away in Azkaban. But he'd approached it like a challenge, like something impossible it would take tremendous skill to navigate, and _he had._ And now things were dangling, barely hanging on by a thread. Once one thing snapped, so the rest would fly apart and shatter, and how prepared was he really?

 _Take me to Harry's cell,_ she intoned silently. _I've got it now...well...Blaise and I think we've got it. There's only one way to test the theory._

Draco stiffened. _How sure are you?_

She huffed aloud, but amid the table talk, it went unnoticed. _So that warrants a response, too?_ She paused for a moment, but when Draco didn't speak she continued. _We've labored over it for three days. I'm as certain as I can be without putting it to the actual test._

_Three days...and you're just telling me now?_

She sighed. _I've only just seen you now. Don't you think I've been dying to speak with you? I've tried calling for you through the bond, even, but obviously there was no response._

Furious with himself for having been gone on the farce of a mission for the Ministry, he spat cruelly in his mind, _Yes, well, that's what happens when you're countries apart._

_Never mind that. This arguing is pointless. We should go to Harry's cell the first chance we get. Knowing my luck, Vol-, You-Know-Who—_

_I don't think the trigger works in our minds, Hermione._

_Voldemort, may get paranoid and move him. We'd better get to him while we still have the chance._ She appealed to him with her eyes.

Draco thought about it, the previous feeling of uneasiness surfacing and roiling in the pit of his stomach. Again, he could not shake the thought that everything was just barely hanging together by a thread, and that the wave of danger he had thus far avoided would come crashing down on them at any moment. _Let me review your notes,_ he finally replied. _I won't be able to now, as we are leaving for the Ministry right after breakfast, but as soon as I return I will, and then we can discuss the plan to retrieve Harry._

Her eyes narrowed furiously. _You should have come to me straight away last night, and looked over them then. I have a feeling we should go now._

_I got back to the manor at two in the morning, and we aren't doing this the rash, brawdy, Gryffindor way. Spontaneity is not our friend._

_I've achieved plenty of things spontaneously!_

_And look how well that's turned out for you._

Hurt briefly flashed over her features. _Fine,_ she agreed. _Look over them when you come home, if you must._ There was a sharp undercurrent to her words, even inside his head as they were. _And make me sit through another session of tea with those wretched girls, I guess, so I can hear about my poor friends that have been forced to marry those hags._

 _They'll live._ He moved his attention to his tea, if not only to break away from her stare, but still continued their silent conversation. _They'll all live, so long as we succeed._

He'd had enough of talking with her. It was difficult to remain distant, to stay aloof, but it was what she needed. Even if she thought she _wanted_ something else, he would always give Hermione what was best for her.

A horrible feeling of insecurity gnawed at him when he deliberated upon their future. Ever the coward, he wrenched the thought from his mind as soon as it surfaced. There simply wasn't room for a thing like that now in the midst of everything else he was dealing with. He could feel her trying to pull him back into a conversation, but what was the point? He needed to get into the right headspace to prepare himself for the surprise mission she'd dropped on him.

This was finally happening.

It could all be at an end very soon.

The worry he felt in regard to the double life he led would surely subside now that the end was in sight. Blaise and Hermione were more than competent. If they thought they had discovered the answer, then surely they had. Draco would need to contact Snape and give the Headmaster a heads up on the potential breakthrough. He would also need to finalize the arrangements for his parents. He wished Theo had been able to show him anything—even the slightest sign—that he could defect to the Light, but Draco wasn't sure Theo could be trusted. If he proposed the opportunity to Theo, and Theo rejected Draco's offer, that would be one cord strung too tight, and one of Draco's carefully constructed towers of deceit would surely break before destroying another in its wake. He simply couldn't risk it.

Maybe he could strike a deal for Theo as he had for his parents. It would be worth speaking to Cyrus about. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave his friend to the wolves. Even if he did, he knew the newly revived Order would deal fairly with all who expressed remorse. Maybe some time in Azkaban, but surely not _the Kiss._

_I can feel the baby, you know._

Draco's eyes snapped up to meet hers, surprised when he found genuine honesty burning in her eyes. _How can that be? You're so early on._

_Not feel him or her... moving, exactly, no, it's more like I can feel my magical core tightening, and there's a sort of pull on it, tugging on my own. I can feel the baby's magic forming, I'm certain of it._

He swallowed convulsively, a frisson of worry searing through him at the abrupt reminder of everyone who was relying on him. He was struck with a fierce desire to protect his family.

Hermione graced him with a small smile. _You don't have to be so troubled all the time. I'm here, too. I can help share the burden._

_There's no burden._

_Liar._ She smirked. _You're constantly worried, I can tell. You don't show it outwardly - no, you're too good - but I can feel it just the same._

 _You don't need to share any burdens,_ he told her definitively. _You have your hands full enough as it is._

She pursed her lips and looked as if she were itching to fold her arms and glare at him. _I wish you would stop thinking of me as so fragile. Surely you know I'm capable of withstanding whatever it is you're always keeping from me._

 _I believe that's called hubris, Hermione,_ and he knew she could sense his admonishment through their bond. _You are fragile - your mental health is fragile - and you've been through a traumatic experience. You can't simply run headfirst back into things after what you have gone through._

She gave him a scathing look, but didn't try to deny the truth of his words. Instead, she tried to deflect him altogether. _I do believe we have an audience._

Startled, he glanced away from her to see that yes, indeed, his parents and their guests were watching them both curiously. He mentally cursed himself for dropping his guard. This was just the sort of thing Hermione caused him to do—lose focus.

"You two are typical newlyweds," Theo said, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. "Making eyes at each other and tuning the rest of the world out." He shot them a derisive smirk.

Draco was grateful for his friend's interjection. His parents seemed more amused than irritated, and certainly not suspicious. Alice smiled at Hermione serenely.

 _Okay,_ Hermione added begrudgingly. _Maybe he's a trifle humorous, too. Add that to the list._

A grin tugged at his lips and this time he was helpless to hide it from her. When he darted a glance at Hermione, he saw a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

**~oOo*oOo~**

Just where she wanted to be, another unfortunate session of tea with Greengrass and Parkinson. Perhaps she had felt something akin to sympathy tugging at her heart strings for the situation they had found themselves to be in, but they were still enemies of a sort. Hermione didn't doubt for one second that each girl would happily see her at the end of Voldemort's wand.

They were being especially nasty today.

Which only got worse when Narcissa got up and left to check on something in the kitchens.

"You'd better hope you deliver that baby without a hitch," Greengrass said to Alice, dropping all pretenses of kindness as she let the scorn drip from her voice.

Alice visibly blanched at the notion that there would be any complications at all when it came time to deliver her baby, as if she'd considered the possibility many times before and harped on it in her own mind. She wasn't as dimwitted as everyone assumed. Hermione sensed Alice employed the same defense mechanism Hermione herself was now using.

"Oh?" Alice tried and failed to keep the tremor from her voice.

"If you fail to deliver all that's expected of you, Theo has no use for you." Greengrass crossed her arms over her chest, unsuppressed glee shining in her eyes. "That's his only reason for keeping you, or else he would pursue more fitting prospects for himself."

"More fitting prospects?" Hermione could not help but interrupt. "You mean, like yourself?" Mock sympathy mixed with disbelief flooded her features as she stared down a flushed Greengrass. Why did Hermione feel the need to take dangerous attention off of someone else and place it squarely on herself? It was in her nature, she supposed. She could hardly help it, but goodness she should really start backtracking now.

"Got something to say, do you, Mudblood?" Greengrass shifted her gaze to Hermione, seemingly recovered from her momentary surprise.

Parkinson looked on warily, and Hermione felt like slapping the girl out of her stupor. Parkinson was doing a shit job of reining in her friend, and she was forcing Hermione's hand. How could Hermione stay silent when Greengrass was treating Alice so cruelly? Maybe it was her hormones positively roaring, but the idea of keeping quiet was almost too tragic to bear...it forced her into action.

"I believe I just told you what I had to say," Hermione reminded her, as if speaking to a toddler. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"Perhaps you do."

"Well, _Daphne_ ," Hermione said in a voice sickly sweet. "Maybe you are just jealous of Alice, jealous because you had your sights set on her husband and you didn't get him. But perhaps it's best for everyone if you just _moved on._ "

The harsh words lay heavily in the air.

Her eyes blazed with unabashed fury mingling with jealousy. " _Mudblood_ ," she spat. "I think you are forgetting one crucial thing."

Hermione raised her brows in polite interest, acutely aware she was only inciting the girl's fury more.

"I have a wand." Greengrass curled her fingers around auburn wood, making them all aware she had indeed drawn her wand. "And I know how to use it... _quite well._ Would you like a demonstration?"

Alice's eyes grew wide as saucers, her face stretched in fear.

"Daphne, please," Parkinson finally - blessedly - spoke. "You know such a thing would be frowned upon. Put your wand away before you get into trouble."

Greengrass' bravado faltered for just a second, before she schooled her features and recovered effortlessly. "You're right, of course, Pansy." She forced a light smile on her face and turned to look at Hermione.

Hermione was torn between escalating the fight and backing away slowly. _Danger!_ Something shouted in her mind. Good Merlin, what was she intending to do...oust herself? She needed to contain the situation. A witch's jealousy was nothing to trifle with. Clearly Greengrass cared deeply for Nott, though how that could be Hermione was sure she would never know. Daphne didn't appear to have a loving bone in her body.

Greengrass was still staring at Hermione, her jaw clenched as she seemed divided between putting her wand back into her dress robes or wielding it as she had threatened to do.

 _Sweet Morgana,_ Hermione inwardly appealed. _Just put the blasted thing away...please!_

She had enough on her mind, what with her exchange with Draco and the - perhaps - progress they had made, and the Runes that didn't stop running through her mind a mile a minute. How was she to focus on the threat that was Greengrass, among everything else she had to contend with? Draco had promised to look over the work she and Blaise had done tonight, and she was counting down the minutes until he returned from the Ministry.

"I won't curse her," Greengrass finally said, to Parkinson's apparent relief.

Hermione felt herself breathing easier right along with Parkinson, even if part of her wondered why the witch would be so reluctant to curse her. Was there some sort of added protection she had? Draco really didn't tell her much about anything, by her estimations.

"But Lady Nott, on the other hand, is _fair game._ "

Before Hermione could so much as blink, Greengrass had her wand trained on Alice and swiftly hurled a sickly yellow curse at her, which collided with a disturbing thud as it hit her chest.

Parkinson gasped - _but did nothing_ \- and Greengrass' eyes gleamed with the delectable taste of vengeance, a taste Hermione would be familiar with all too soon.

Hermione saw _red._

While Alice clapped a hand to her mouth and turned green with nausea, Hermione felt as if she were moving in slow motion. Alice was gagging, and then she was choking, before she'd moved to vomiting, all over the table and all over herself. Greengrass was watching the horror in front of her contentedly, and regardless of the more rational side of Hermione that tried to rein her ire in, tried desperately to calm herself, she could not be dissuaded and was jolted into action.

A white-hot light burst from her hands and was sent careening toward an unsuspecting Greengrass, sending her flying to the opposite wall, her face set in comical surprise.

Hermione could not help the wicked laugh that escaped her throat. She got up from her chair and walked around the table with all the grace of an advancing predator to where Greengrass lay sprawled against the wall. She let the wave of her oppressive magic, wielded without the added use of a wand, wash over the room and crash down on the witch.

"You horrid girl," Hermione told her, face expressionless. "Maybe you are scared, too, but that doesn't give you reason to be so horrible." She pushed on her magic, never before in complete control of such a wild force. "We're _all_ scared, but that doesn't give you permission to be a _coward_."

Hermione wasn't even sure what had provoked her to say such things, but by the look on Greengrass' face, she could tell the girl was frightened—she could tell her words hit home. Furious, she yanked the witch's wand away and promptly snapped it in two, bestowing the cowering Greengrass with a victorious smile as she did so.

With single-minded focus, she channeled the surprisingly powerful magic that still poured out of her, and directed it to a still vomiting Alice, coaxing it to turn a healing shade of blue, and calmly letting it run through the girl.

This would prove to be a misstep.

As soon as she turned her back on the girls, Parkinson wasted no time in getting to her feet and yanking up her sleeve. By the time Hermione turned back around, Parkinson had her wand poised to the Dark Mark that stood out glaringly against the pale skin of her forearm.

Hermione's righteous fury gave way to paralyzing fear. "Pansy," she appealed, eyes open and close to begging. "Don't do that. You don't want to do that."

"I'm sorry, Granger," Parkinson told her sadly. "I have to. We are trained...if there are any signs...I have to! It's my duty."

The magnitude of the error she had made in reacting in the manner she had hit her like a Bludger to the chest, and she suddenly regretted acting so instinctively. _Draco,_ she screamed in her mind. _Draco! I need you now!_

 _Hermione?_ Came the incredulous response, sounding farway, like a bad connection on a muggle phone line.

 _I'm in trouble,_ she desperately tried to tell him. Merlin was she ever.

**~oOo*oOo~**

It all happened so quickly.

One minute, he was walking the halls of the Ministry with his _peers,_ the next he was making his apologies and racing away to the nearest Floo.

He had never heard her sound like that - not even as _Jean_ \- so desperate and afraid. Hermione had told him she was in trouble, and he knew instantly that she wasn't overreacting.

Draco arrived in the parlor of the manor, quickly stunning Pansy and then Daphne in rapid succession, before running over to Hermione who cradled a sickly looking Alice in her arms.

"Mimsy!" he shouted for the elf. She appeared dutifully before him, just as his mother rounded the corner, her features frozen in shock at the scene she arrived to. "You know what to do," he instructed the elf urgently. "Take them by Portkey." He handed the small button he always carried at least two copies of to the frazzled elf. "Alice, too. And Mimsy? I can't afford any mistakes."

"Yes, Master Draco." Mimsy moved quickly to grab a distressed Narcissa who was looking at her son questioningly and pulled her over to where Alice sat at the table, before Apparating them both away with a _pop._

Hermione watched almost listlessly, surveying the scene as if it weren't entirely bizarre. Finally, she looked up at him. "I messed up, Draco. Pansy summoned _him._ "

"It's okay," he assured her, kneeling down to take her hands. "He has his hands full right now. He won't be able to come right away, and when he does we'll be long gone."

His words sent a visible spark of hope searing through her. Brown eyes blazing despite the presence of tears, she asked determinedly, "What about Harry?"

"We don't have that much time," he told her seriously. "They'll be on our trails and I haven't got a chance to go over…"

"The work is correct." She scrutinized his reaction to her apparent confidence. "I promise it's good. We're ready."

"It would have to be now or never." His mind shifted to the next automatically occurring worry. They simply couldn't show up to the base in Algiers without Harry in tow. It would mean years of spying gone down the drain. "Are you sure you can do it?"

"Positive."

His movements continued to blur in front of him as he moved automatically but with precision. He barely registered the flash of his Patronus as he sent his warning to both Blaise and Severus. He and Hermione ran up the stairs and to his room to locate the Cloak and don it before making their way to the Floo.

The Ministry blurred around them as they made their way to the elevator shafts, Draco clearly visible but Hermione hidden, this time sans the Imperius to keep her quiet. She stayed silent all on her own.

The walk down the hallway that housed Potter's prison was quite possibly the longest five minutes of his life. He recalled each step, expecting at any moment that Voldemort may have eviscerated his enemies and come to the manor in order to check in and see why he was signaled. Draco silently begged every deity that they could please have precious time to see this through. He prayed the Bulgarian rebels were giving Voldemort one hell of a time. He and Hermione surely wouldn't be alone for long, one way or another.

Once again, it was only a lone guard that stood between them and Potter. Well, a lone guard and the most complicated ward ever magically fortified.

 _Scaro,_ Draco silently intoned, rendering the unsuspecting guard blind, deaf, and paralyzed in a matter of a second.

Hermione ripped the Cloak off of herself, and she and Draco both advanced on the doorway.

"We may have a five minute head start," Draco told her, darting a glance around the vacant hall. "Can it be unraveled so quickly?"

"I'm not sure." Hermione pursed her lips as her eyes traced the parameter of the door. "But it has to work. I'll _make it_ work."

"If you can get the wards down, we'll be able to Apparate straight from here to safety. If not, we will have to abandon Potter and leave under the Cloak." When he saw the look she gave him, he hastily added, "Surviving another day is better than _everyone_ dying."

"Where did you send your mother and Alice?"

He watched as she knelt to the ground, brushing her fingers against the stone archway.

"I made a deal with the Resistance for my parents. They will be under watch, but safe until I can try to persuade them myself. Severus will decide if Theo can be included or not, I wasn't able to make a deal for him. They, along with Blaise, will hopefully be at the Rebel's location by the time we are finished."

"I hope you have more of those button-Portkeys."

"Of course," he scoffed. "I make them small enough to conceal several, should the situation call for it, but we definitely have an out."

Hermione nodded, reciting an incantation and watching the ward glow in front of her. "The trick lies in unraveling it in the order that it was placed." She reached for her wand and etched the outline of a Rune into the air. " _Tinne,_ " she explained. "It's in Ogham. Hard as rich, metal stones. It's the hardest to cut through, so that's what he undoubtedly used."

The ward seemed to absorb the fiery outline of the Rune, before it sizzled in front of them and glimmered to a shade of light blue glow. Draco had to catch his breath at the resultant intricate and complex ward that appeared before them, almost too painful to look at. So many calculations and variables coded in Runes...the complexity of it all was _staggering,_ and they were seeing it in its entirety for the first time.

"That's it," she needlessly informed him, eyes awestruck as she took in the sight of the complicated pattern. "It's not as bad as it looks."

If the lie was supposed to comfort him, it hardly had the desired effect.

"You-Know-Who used a technique known as _Tetrapragmata_ , meaning he combined four branches of magic." She flicked her wand and summoned a piece of white chalk before kneeling down to draw a pentagram on the hard floor. "The creation of this type of ward is rather labor-intensive. Part of the wizard's magical energy must be transferred into the ward before being bound by a series of binding spells to amplify the connection. The Dark variation of the Binding Charms combined with the Rune and the calculation Blaise and I solved, is the key." She cast a dark glare at the doorway. "But there is still the complication of _his_ magic being bound in this ward. One way or another, our magic will have to overpower his lingering magic, not an impossibility once we break the binds."

Draco tried not to gape at Hermione as she continued to etch away on the floor. He'd heard her referred to as _the Brightest Witch of Her Age_ before, and he supposed she was definitely living up to that title today. The one hurdle he could not quite wrap his head around was how the two of them could possibly overpower magic Voldemort left behind, unbound or not _._

Hermione shot a series of fiery calculations into the air, each one vanishing into the foreboding ward as soon as she finished writing it. "That's a good sign," she called over her shoulder. "That means the ward is accepting it. The unraveling has already begun."

"What's next?"

She hesitated for the briefest of moments and Draco became instantly suspicious.

"Well?" he prodded.

"Next...the ward requires blood."

"Blood?" He was right to be wary.

"Yes." She deftly averted his gaze. "Blood is required to establish a connection...a link if you will...to our magic and You-Know-Who's. We won't be able to touch it unless we can access it."

"You won't be giving any of your blood," he informed her rather bluntly.

"Yes." Hermione instinctively placed a hand over her abdomen. "So then it must be you, I suppose."

 _Blast it all._ It would figure Draco would be required to do something like this. Blood magic was dangerous. It was also as Dark as magic went. But clearly it would fall to him or no one at all. _Time to save Saint Potter,_ he inwardly rallied. "Right, then." He yanked up the sleeve of his black coat. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

"You have to stand in the middle of the pentagram," she instructed.

His eyes wandered over to hers. Chocolate brown orbs gazed back at him softly. He moved quickly, reminding himself that they were on a desperate time crunch.

"Directly in the middle."

He moved to comply and raised his arm so that the exposed skin of his forearm shone in the light of the ward. "Now what?"

"Just a small cut for the ritual." She advanced on him slowly, raising her wand. "A dagger would be preferential but a slicing hex will suffice. We just need enough to drip into the ward." She ripped off a piece of her dress and nimbly transfigured it into a flimsy cup. "Hold it here." She placed it under his wrist, then muttered the incantation.

Draco did not even blink as the curse pierced through his skin, drawing a steady pulse of blood that culminated at the bottom and dripped into the cup. Once the cup was substantially full, he handed it to her and she began pouring it into the glowing ward, furrowing her brow when it was not immediately sucked up.

"Oh dear," she muttered, before proceeding to pour out all of the contents.

Still, not so much as a glimmer of magic interrupted the steadily pulsating ward.

She bit her lip, and he could practically see the wheels of her brain turning.

"It didn't work," she pointlessly informed him.

"Perhaps I drew the pentagram wrong," she told him evasively. "Maybe I needed to etch the Runes onto the points as well."

" _Hermione_ ," he told her earnestly. "We don't have time for this. We should probably just get out of here. Potter will be moved, and then we will get the chance to try again."

She was ignoring him, hastily writing in the Runes on each point before handing him the cup again. "One more time, _I promise,_ " she assured him. "I'm sorry I didn't think about it before."

He sighed loudly but allowed her to deepen the wound, drawing more blood from his outstretched arm.

"How can you be sure this will work?"

"Because I came up with it," she answered saucily.

Despite the adrenaline pounding at his temples, he could not help but feel briefly amused. "Your modesty astounds me."

She only smirked at him as she took the cup and once more poured the contents into the doorway. This time the blood was sucked up completely, and the pentagram began glowing with an intensely bright light. Relief flooded through him at the sight of the shining white lines, but his mood plummeted when he saw her jump inside the glowing pentagram right along with him. He had been distracted before, but now he saw a small gash on her own forearm.

"What have you done?" Raw fury surged through him at her blatant disregard for her own care, that she would put herself in danger despite his orders.

"You need help," she answered simply. "Blaise was supposed to be here when we tried, but since he's not... I'll have to take his place."

"That wasn't the deal."

"Draco, what hope is there if we don't bring back Harry? _No one_ will live in peace so long as he's captured. You must know the risk is worth it."

"Not to me it isn't," he told her passionately.

Hermione set her lips in a grim line, but then all Draco could feel was pressure, such pressure that it increased to the point of pain and reached a breaking point, ripping through him violently. He and Hermione both were helpless but to scream as the ward and the pentagram glowed even brighter, the magic opening with a vengeance and for the first time... _vulnerable_ to their attack.

If Draco had to describe the force that was assaulting him, he would say it felt like _death._ The onslaught of the overwhelming pressure caused his eyes to squeeze shut in pain. He felt a hand reach out to grab his, and he held onto it tightly. Something twisted and sprang to the surface aggressively, having the effect of suffocating him.

 _No, Draco,_ Hermione reached out in her mind. _It's Voldemort's magic and it's fighting us. We need to fight back._

But the force was so strong - so unavoidable - it was almost too much.

 _See? That's why you needed help._ A squeeze of his hand, a touch that grounded him. _We'll do it together Draco._

 _How?_ He couldn't help but ask.

_Call for your magic. Let it come to you. Let it rage… wild and free… and let it cloak you._

Fighting every urge to curl into a ball and hide, Draco summoned his magic, and it came to him tentatively, unsure of what to make of the situation.

_Now what?_

_Your magic should be angry. Voldemort's magic is lingering, keeping you away from what you want the most… from peace… from what needs to happen. Your magic is enraged! Let it free...let it attack._

Draco let his magic, which inexplicably seemed to bend to Hermione's words, inflating around him until it was flooding the hall and pushing against the unguarded lingering magic of the Dark Lord's. He was hyper-aware of whatever the magic touched and could even feel it stretching to fill the heated lines of the pentagram. Voldemort's magic threatened to tear his apart, but there was another magical presence apart from his own, and perhaps that's why he felt the urge to _shove._

He pushed at the oppressive Dark Magic that stood in his way - angering it and riling it to a boiling fury - before expending all his energy to ruthlessly attack it. It was so odd; he was wandless, yet he _was_ his magic _,_ and it moved through him like an unstoppable force. The complex web of spells that stood in their way teetered and faltered, at risk for being decimated completely, if only they could be pushed even further than Draco could push them himself.

But it could be pushed _further._

For the magical presence beside him was formidable in its own right, and attacked the foreign ward just as cruelly - as ruthlessly - until Draco was able to see bits and pieces of it shattering. Spurred on by the progress they were making, he pulled even deeper from his magic, letting it flood the doorway as it attacked the weakened wards. The pulse of their magical energies combined with Voldemort's lingering magic, throbbed and stretched to explosive levels.

But they were winning.

The ward was fracturing.

Draco could see through to the other side, and the amount of holes in the once impenetrable ward had rendered it weak and breaking. It only took one final combined push to break it completely.

The only issue with that was that he had called upon such a large amount of energy, that the sudden yielding caused him to fly backwards so that he found himself prone on his back. He no longer had the energy to move, but he instinctively knew that the wards had been breached, and they would be free to cross and take their cargo with them… if only they had the energy to do so.

Distantly, Draco heard shouts in the supposed to be empty corridor. How irritating? How rude of somebody to show up unexpected. Even more annoying was the incessant tugging on his hand. Whoever was disturbing him, he wished he could simply Vanish them. That was the way you dealt with pests.

 _Draco,_ the voice ricocheted through his brain. _We need to get Harry and leave. They know we're here. Come on!_

The world shifted on its axis and then he was rather abruptly reminded of just how dangerous a situation they were in, of just what was happening.

A wand was suddenly leveled at his face. " _Ennervate_!"

Jolted into action, Draco suddenly found himself running aimlessly, until he found a hand gripping his wrist and pulling him—guiding him.

"Come on, Draco," Hermione said urgently, as they moved much too quickly for his liking. "We need to get to _him_ , and get out of here!"

But it turned out they did not have to travel far. Potter ran head first into them, no longer trapped by the wards.

"What's happened?" He looked around nervously. "You couldn't have taken the wards down? It's another trick, right?" He looked between the two of them as if he expected they would sprout fangs any given second and sink their teeth into him. "It's best if I stay here and wait it out… pass the test… it will hurt so much less."

"We're real, Harry."

The black-haired wizard eyed her dubiously.

"Even if it was a trick, you'll just have to play it out," she reasoned. "Right?" She turned quickly on her spot. "Draco?" Her wide eyes sought his wildly. "Get out the button, quick! Merlin, but the two of you are giving me heart palpitations."

Considering heart palpitations did not sound very appealing, Draco searched for the alleged button he was thought to have. His mind was still befuddled, caught in a blurry, magical haze, but he moved quicker. "Here," he offered, raising the button triumphantly.

"Oh, thank Merlin." Hermione grabbed his hand to place it securely around her waist before reaching for Harry. "They've arrived," she informed them frantically. " _Expulso!_ " she yelled at the entrance, before turning to take a hold of the Portkey, thusly activating it.

Draco was unable to see the effect of her curse before they were swept up in a morphing, twisting, ball of energy that was trying valiantly to whisk them away from the Ministry. The unstable wards of the Ministry stretched and pulled around them, but were too fragile to hold, and finally relented, letting them through. Then they were careening through time and space, and it was all his frazzled mind could do but to hold on tightly for what was sure to be a wild ride.

**~oOo*oOo~**

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_~Banner by Britt52900~_


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